


Burnt

by lastcrazyhorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, American Sign Language, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, British Sign Language, Deaf Character, Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, Horror, Minor Violence, Neglect, Physical Disability, Runaway, Sign Language, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 104,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastcrazyhorn/pseuds/lastcrazyhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A disabled Harry comes to Hogwarts story. Everyone expects him to be like his dad, but how can he be with such a different past? A Slytherin Harry takes on Hogwarts in an unusual way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Surprising Sorting

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Less than nothing, even. They (i.e. - Harry, Snape, etc.) aren't mine, but should any OCs make cameo appearances, I will claim them. :)
> 
> Oh and Etherian is my beta; so if you run across any glaring errors, they're probably mine. :)

“POTTER, HARRY.”

A pause, and then a small bespectacled boy pushed his way of the crowd and slowly made his way to the front of the Great Hall.  

Step.  Click.  Step.  Click.  

All eyes were on the spiky, black haired boy as he carefully moved across the floor.  At his right side, he had a blue stainless steel forearm crutch, and every time he took a step with his right leg, it moved too.

Everyone stared at the strange pinkish scars he had across the right side of his head.

Step.  Click.  Step.  Click.

It seemed to take an inordinately long amount of time for the boy to make his way to the front, but perhaps that was merely because everyone had fallen silent as they witnessed the anomaly that was before them.

Step.  Click.  Step.  Click.  

Then, silence as the boy stopped in front of the small stool and slowly sat down upon it.  He looked straight out at everyone, his back ramrod straight as he waited for McGonagall to drop the hat down over his spiky black hair.  

At long last the hat was down, and that’s when the real waiting began.  Minutes crawled by and yet the hat did not speak.  The students looked at their professors and the headmaster for clues, but none were forthcoming.  

Everyone knew that both of his parents had been in Gryffindor.  It made sense that he would be as well.  It should have been a quick decision.  There shouldn’t have been a wait.  

As five minutes turned into ten, the professors had begun to talk to one another in low murmurs, and the students in the Great Hall followed suit.  

Another minute passed without a decision.

McGonagall took a step forwards, her hand reaching out to take the hat off of the boy, and that’s when the hat finally did speak.  

It slowly opened the slit that was its mouth, and shouted out for all of the Great Hall to hear.

“SLYTHERIN.”

The small boy carefully stood up, removed the hat from his head and slowly went to take a seat at the far table on the side closest to the professors.  He sat down next to a silent Draco Malfoy and across the table from a grinning Theodore Nott.  

No one clapped.  No sounds were made from the shocked crowd.  

As they watched, the left side of Harry’s face pulled upwards into the semblance of a smile, while the right side stayed completely immobile.  The effect was more of a smirk, and it seemed to sit well with the other first year Slytherins he was surrounded with.  As they relaxed, so did most of the other students.  

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the forearm crutch collapsed into itself and shrunk down an object no larger than a wristwatch on the small boy’s arm.  

After a moment more, McGonagall cleared her throat and managed to call out the next name, but there was little doubt what—or whom—they were all still thinking about.  

. . .

Harry hadn’t been bothered by the silence surrounding the hat’s decision.  His world had been mostly silent since the accident anyway.  He could still hear extreme highs and lows, but mostly he relied on touch and sight to make his way through the world.  

It hadn’t particularly bothered him to be stared at by a room of kids either.  He was used to being stared at.  He didn’t necessarily _like_ it, but he wasn’t prone to being nervous about it either.  

He was used to it.

It helped that his right eye was actually a magical prosthetic that did everything a regular eye did, plus a few things.  He couldn’t see through objects with it like a certain auror’s did, but he didn’t care.  He was just thankful to be able to see out of that side of his face again.  

Around him the other students were bringing their hands together and clapping as the last student was sorted.  However, it wasn’t until a boy had slid into the spot diagonal from him that he realised he had gotten Slytherin as well.  

He assumed from the direction of people’s heads that someone was apparently talking, so he turned his body around and gazed up at Dumbledore, the bloody headmaster.  The old man was talking, but Harry couldn’t understand much thanks to his massive beard.  No matter, he knew better than most that what came out of the old man’s mouth was mostly rubbish.  

He swung back around and ignored the students around him as he remembered that first meeting with Dumbledore.  

He had awoken to pain, so much pain surrounding him like a blinding white sheet of open nerves floating amongst a sea of burnt detritus.

“All right there, Harry?”  The headmaster had asked him.  

It had been before the infections had taken out so much of his hearing, but now he wished he could have just completely ignored the man.  Was he all right!?  

 _What kind of a question was that?  He had just been blown up—or rather out of the car that his relatives had left him to_ die _in._

 _Was he all right???  After the horrendous crash that had completely crushed his right leg to splinters?  After being left to burn when his relatives escaped relatively unscathed?  Having to hear them talking about purposely_ not _going back for him, while he screamed for help?_

Oh he was just bloody well peachy.  

Harry scowled and the other students around him shot calculating glances at him in response.  

“Old man’s crazy,” Nott grumbled just across the table from him.  “Never shuts up,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I know,” Harry answered, allowing his face to relax once more.  

Finally, he noticed the other students shifting in their seats just as the table was loaded down with food.  

“Can’t believe you—,” Malfoy poked him in the arm and he turned to better see what he was going on about. “A _Potter_ ,” the other boy’s eyes narrowed in disdain as he said it, “being sorted into Slytherin.  If your parents were still alive, they’d likely be petitioning to have you resorted before dessert.”  The white blond haired boy’s lips curled up, and Harry felt for the knife he had in his pocket, not pulling it out, but keeping a hand on it.  

“Maybe if they were alive,” he answered slowly, carefully enunciating his words as he did, “I wouldn’t have been sorted into Slytherin to begin with.”  The left side of his face rose in that same parody of a smile and the others first years around him seemed to squirm in discomfort at it.  

“Malfoys have always been in Slytherin,” the boy said, sniffing lightly as though Harry’s proximity had left a bad smell in the air.  

“’Cept for that Hufflepuff girl,” Nott interjected slowly, giving Harry a chance to see him before finishing his thoughts.  

Malfoy’s white face flushed a bit out of the corner of Harry’s eye, and he grinned that same half smile once more in response to the other boy’s discomfort.

“We don’t speak of her,” retorted Malfoy hotly.  

“Of course not,” Nott answered, rolling his eyes for Harry’s benefit.  

He spent the rest of the meal watching and observing the others around him.  He ate slowly and carefully as he did so, appreciating the luxury of the meal and enjoying the time he was allowed to spend on it.  Of course, as was his habit, he stole the bread and slipped it into an inner magically sealed, airless pocket inside his robe.  Back in the muggle world, he had used Tupperware, but he found this option to be much less bulky and far easier to manipulate in such a crowded atmosphere.  

None of his fellow Slytherins saw the action, but his head of house did, and unsurprisingly, Snape found the action worrisome.  

In fact, he found Harry’s entire demeanour a cause for concern, and now that he had been sorted into Slytherin—something he would have never thought possible—it gave him the means with which to investigate the boy, and hopefully ease some of those concerns.  

After dessert was over, Harry watched in concealed surprise as the leftover mess before them disappeared just as easily as it had appeared before.  Judging from the direction of the heads around him, he guessed that the Headmaster was talking again.  He didn’t bother to look at him at all this time. He was sure that if there was anything important said, it would be repeated again by those around him.  They didn’t seem the types to blindly accept the rules, and for that he was glad.  He wasn’t sure what he would have done had he wound up in a house full of obedient automatons.  

 _What had that Malfoy boy said?  Resorting, right,_ he remembered.  If he had been put somewhere he didn’t like, he would have asked for a resorting himself.  Who needed parents to depend on, anyway?  

 _Worthless, they are_ , was his vehement thought.  

. . .

The walk to their dorm took them down several flights of stairs, each darker than the last.  

 _Gloomy, great_ , he thought with an uncharacteristically cheerful heart.  He liked the idea of living in a dungeon, even if no one else did.  

He made sure to go slowly, to look weaker and more inept than he actually was as he made his way down the stone steps.  Technically he didn’t need the crutch at all, as his magically enhanced prosthetic leg held him up just fine.  However, he had learned, through many painful lessons, that people underestimated the ones who looked weak, and he certainly didn’t want to discourage the assumption.  

He gripped the side rail harder than was necessary, and eventually the annoyance of his classmates started to make its way to him.  If he were to guess, he’d say that they had been saying things for awhile before the physical violence started, but he didn’t know for sure.  

He felt it at shoulder level first; a touch, a bump and then a something like a shove, followed by an increase in vibratory sounds around him.  

Laughter wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but seeing Nott’s concerned face was.  The shoving, the pushing continued, and eventually someone oh-so-unhelpfully shoved a foot into the middle of his back, nearly causing him to really lose his balance.  

He stopped completely still, his eyes focused on something farther away on the opposite wall, and he spoke in a voice loud enough to make his throat vibrate nearly painfully.

“Next person that tries to push me down the stairs is getting kicked in the stones.”

Everyone stilled around him, but no one turned around and actually looked back up at him.  No one came up to him and said anything to his face.  Beside him, he could see Nott’s shoulders twitching alongside a poorly hidden smile on the smaller boy’s face.  

Then he started moving again, and everyone followed suit.  

No one touched him for the rest of the trip down.

. . .

Snape travelled down the stairs at a quicker pace, having chosen an alternate and less well known route than the one the Prefects traditionally took the students on.  He arrived moments before his house did, despite having left the feast _after_ the students.  It gave him time to find a spot in the shadows to stand and then observe the students as they made their way in to the common room.  

He had been very surprised at having Potter’s spawn in his house, but now after having watched the boy all during dinner, he found himself agreeing with the hat’s decision, if only ever so hesitantly.  

His eyes narrowed as the firsties finally made their way into the common room, having taken up the rear of the crowd as always.  Unlike his classmates, Potter seemed completely unfazed by the hustle and hubbub going on around him.  The boy’s eyes flicked to his hiding spot, and a ghost of a half-smile came and went across his face in an instant.  

So the lad had seen him.  That wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary; several of his older students had known to look for him, but as far as he could tell, none of the other first years noticed his presence at all.  

He took the time to observe the pleased expression on the tiny Nott boy’s face, and then he saw the petulant scowl across Draco Malfoy’s features, and he surmised that the two likely had something to do with one another.  Fighting in the corridors was a likely bet; one that he would have to speak to his prefects about— _again_.  Malfoy’s upbringing being what it had been, he doubted that this would be the last of the fights he had to deal with.  

It was time to begin.  He stepped out of the shadows and stated, “Welcome to Slytherin.”  Gasps of surprise met his words and he smirked appreciatively at the small, but successful trick.  He enjoyed keeping his snakes on their toes.

After all, it wouldn’t do to let his children get complacent.  It was best for everyone involved if they really believed that he was everywhere and could see everything.  

“First years up front,” one of his prefects, a Miss Mary Tower instructed in a brisk, no nonsense voice.  The girl was a natural at dealing with younger children, thanks to being the oldest of four.  Her family was and had been a neutral group between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore.  

“Mr. Crabbe,” Snape instructed crisply, already loathing the idea of dealing with this dunderhead for the next seven years. “What is that on the front of your robes?”  

Slowly the boy looked down at his front and then raised his head.  “I dunno—sir,” he added when one of the second years behind him gave him a sharp nudge to this backside.  

“It looks like dinner to me,” Snape spat back critically, his lip curling in distaste.  “You are not a farmyard animal, Mr. Crabbe.  I do not expect to see you eat like one again.  Understood?”  

“Uh yes, sir.  Sorry, sir.” Crabbe mumbled back, dropping his eyes from Snape’s own piercing ones.  

“As I was saying, welcome to Slytherin.  Welcome back for those of you who have returned for another year.  Slytherin is a fine house to be in.  We are the eyes and the ears of the school.  We think before we _do_ ,” he said, stopping in front of the young Malfoy with those words and glaring for a moment.  “We are the planners; the ones who bother to think out the consequences of our actions.”  He paused, and looked at the Potter boy.  The child was staring resolutely back up at him, and he was reminded of how those sharp eyes had glanced at him upon entering the common room.  

“It is not that we do not have bravery like the Gryffindors, because we do.  We stand up for our own, and we do what we can to protect those who are important to us,” he said, looking at all of his snakes with that statement.  He was pleased to see more than a few nodding back at him as they remembered the lessons of past years.

“Slytherin is not a house for idiots either, despite what some may think,” he added, his eyes flashing as he looked directly at Marcus Flint.  “We have intelligence like the Ravenclaws, and I expect you to utilize that skill in everything that you do.  Finally, we are hard workers.  There have some in the past who have referred to Hufflepuff as the house of the ‘leftovers.’” His eyes twitched to Vaisey and then Derrick and Boles.  Those were a pair of “leftovers” if he had ever seen one.  “Those same students are almost always the lazy and arrogant ones.  For whatever reason, they do not seem to understand the dedication that is required to make things _happen_.”

“Prefects, to the front please,” he said and then stepped to the side.  “These are your prefects, Slytherins:  Miss Mary Tower and Mr. Landon Marsh.  In the event that I am not available, you are to take your concerns to them.  Treat them as though you would treat me or any other professor.  If you do not, trust me that I will know,” he hissed, staring down at them all, the warning clear in his face.  

“Lights out for fourth years and younger is in half an hour.  Everyone except first years is dismissed!”

There was a loud shuffle as the students in the common room exited, and while he waited to be left alone with his newest snakes, Severus found his eyes drawn back to Potter.  The boy’s crutch was out, but he was not leaning on it.  Severus could tell that much from the angle of his body.  Unlike his future classmates, the boy wasn’t talking to any of those around him either, but instead he seemed to be watching everyone around him.  

When the common room was sufficiently cleared as to allow Snape some privacy, he noted with interest that the Potter boy was the first to move in towards him, even before he gave his instructions.  

“You will come with me to the infirmary and receive full physicals from Madam Pomfrey,” he stated in a tone that allowed for no argument.  “If any of your classmates should need to stay the night, there will be no talking about it, understood?  Or I’ll have you scrubbing out my cauldrons for the rest of the term.”

It wasn’t an empty threat.  He’d had to do it before, and he’d do it again if necessary.


	2. Results

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got nothin'. I don't even own my own bed. How sad is that? Wait, don't answer that.

The walk back up the stairs wasn’t as bad as the walk down had been; mostly because no one walked behind him.   _Probably having Snape there helped too_ , he also admitted to himself.

The only thing that worried him about being at the back was that he wouldn’t know if anyone said anything, unless they stopped to look at him.  Deciding there was nothing he could do about it, Harry set his mind to worrying about other more pertinent things—like what precisely he’d be able to get away with during the medical exam.  

Of all the things he feared, doctors and medical personnel were some of the worst.  After enduring months of no visitors, except nurses whose only concern was to rid him of dead skin by _scraping_ it off, Harry had developed a bit of an anxiety concerning the medical profession.  Doctors represented loneliness, uncertainty, crippling pain, and the undeniable proof that _no one wanted him_.

His classmates were already inside the infirmary before he realized that he was still in the hallway, staring resolutely at the double doors that led inside.  The smell—he couldn’t move, his mind was locked down in a horrible recall of all the thus far worst moments of his life.  

“Potter?”  He barely twitched as the imposing figure of his head of house came out into the hallway with him and crouched before him.  “Harry, look at me,” the man said, putting a hand on his face and drawing his attention gently to him.  

That did it.  He flinched at the sight of those dark eyes staring so closely at him, but the hand didn’t hurt and the man didn’t start yelling.  He blinked and shook his head.  

“Are you all right?”  

He liked the way that Snape talked.  His words were crisply enunciated, leaving no room for guessing.  He guessed that his professor had practiced his speech in order to make it so _precise_.  

“I don’t like doctors,” he finally said, in what he hoped was a quiet voice.  

Removing the hand from Harry’s face, Snape’s eyes traversed his body, eyeing his leg and face shrewdly, “I would guess not, Mr. Potter.  Can you tell me what happened to result in all of this?”

This time, Harry took a step backwards, putting some much needed space between him and the professor.    
“It was an _accident_ , sir,” he said, feeling the tension in his chest skyrocketing.  

“Yours or somebody else’s?”  His professor asked, not yet standing.  

Harry smiled his half smile, showing his teeth and then briefly turned away as his left eye tried to fill with tears.  “Somebody else’s, sir,” he spat back when he finally could look the man in the eye again.  

“Your relatives?”  

“If you want to call them that,” Harry said walking up to the door and taking a deep breath.  If he went in, he could put an end to this uncomfortable conversation.  

Once inside the infirmary, he blinked hard at the sudden light and forced himself to relax.  He felt the vibration of footsteps from behind him and guessed that Snape had followed him in.  His suspicion was confirmed as the dark robes passed him and went to break up a brief argument that had broken out between Zabini and Malfoy.  

Harry looked around and noticed that with the exception of those two, the rest of his classmates were mostly spread out on the various beds, talking to one another as they awaited their turn.  He passed two girls whispering and giggling to each other, with barely a look to them as he passed.  A big girl was laid out face up a few beds down, pretending to sleep.  Harry supposed that if he were the subject of the other two girls’ gossip, he’d probably try to sleep too.  

A few beds more, but on the other side, he found Nott.  

“Hey, sorry if I got you in trouble,” the smaller boy said, catching his arm and pulling him in closer to where he was perched on the edge of a bed.  Harry let him, even though he could have broken his hold easily.  

“Pardon?”  Harry responded, cocking his head to the side in fake confusion.  Likely Nott was the reason Snape had gone after him, but he found that all in all he didn’t really mind.  

Nott shrugged, acutely embarrassed.  “I noticed you weren’t here and I told Snape that you might still be outside.  I didn’t remember you comin’ in at all.”  

Harry shrugged too.  “I don’t like doc—healers much,” he said, correcting himself as he remembered what they were called in the magical world.  

“Me neither,” Nott retorted, looking away nervously.  “If I wanted to be seen, I’d just walk around naked, you know?”

Harry relaxed and the corner of his mouth came up in something near a real smile.  “Yeah.  I get that.”  

Eventually, Harry wound up sitting on the bed next to Nott—or Teddy, as the boy had finally said to call him.  In turn, he had decided to let _Teddy_ call him Harry.  It was like having a friend—almost.  He didn’t believe in friends, after all.  

They watched as one by one, the various students were cleared by the healer.  Snape took them back in groups of two or three— _god forbid any of mummy or daddy’s little darlings get LOST,_ Harry thought in annoyance.  

“I think I might kill those two girls,” Nott said with a subtle nod to the still talking Parkinson and Greengrass.  

“I think Bulstrode may help you,” Harry responded with his head down to help muffle his statement.    
They had been going over the names of the other kids in the room, Nott helping him the most since he had apparently grown up around most of them.  

Finally it seemed as though just the two of them were left, and Harry wondered if that was on purpose, judging from the twitchy state of the boy next to him.  He had seen some kind of unidentifiable look pass between his head of house and the Pomfrey woman, and he guessed that it had something to do with them.  

“Mr. Potter, if you would follow me back please,” Pomfrey said, appearing once more.  

“Yes ma’am,” he said slowly, glancing at Nott—er, Teddy before leaving the room.  

“I haven’t seen you since you were just a baby,” Pomfrey told him, indicating that he should take a seat on the edge of a bed.  It was different only in that it was behind a curtain, and he was alone with the matron.  

“Is that so,” he answered casually.  He didn’t like being alone with this woman, magical healer or otherwise.  It didn’t matter.  He didn’t like people who had to have a physical degree in _helping_ ; people who seemed to shout to the world with their profession that _they were a helper!_  

 _Bloody bullshit is what that is_.

“You were a beautiful child,” she nattered on as he watched her just in his peripheral.  “Your mother was so happy to have you.”

 _Just like my aunt, I bet,_ he thought morosely.  

“Now, I just need you remain still while I do some scans,” she said, pulling out her wand and pointing it at him.

He tried not to flinch, really he did, but he couldn’t help but lean backwards from the threat of something striking his head.  He already had one bad eye—he didn’t need another!

She frowned at his reaction but didn’t actually say anything.  

He noticed her lips thinning as the parchment beside her began filling up with writing, but decided not to comment on it.  He wondered how accurate her tests were, and whether or not he would have to actually tell his story, but mostly he wondered whether it would actually mean anything if he did.  

“Harry,” the matron finally said, looking decidedly more serious than she had before.  

Agitatedly he dragged a hand through his hair, not caring if it stood up even more than it already was.  

“Can you hear anything I’m saying?” She asked very carefully, her lips moving slower than before.  

“I understand what you’re saying,” he answered instead.  

“That’s not what I asked,” she said, pity blossoming in her eyes and face.  

He hated pity above all else.   The corner of his mouth curled up bitterly and he clenched his teeth briefly.  

“It’s not a big deal,” he answered casually, shifting on his seat.  

“Which part precisely, is not a ‘big deal?’” The woman snipped back, her posture becoming even more rigid.  “Your hearing loss?  Your leg?  Your eye?  Mr. Potter, really; these are all very important parts of you!”

“ _Were_ ,” he clarified.  “Were,” he repeated, jumping off the bed and stalking to the edge of the curtained off area.  

He felt the woman behind him talking and he turned angrily to see the last part of her statement, “ . . . you going?”

“Because we’re not done yet?  Listen, we’re done!  It doesn’t matter,” he said, enunciating his words the best he could.  

“Young man, I decide whether we are done or not, and believe me you, we are _not_ ,” she said, pink blossoming in her cheeks as he continued to stare back unflinchingly.  

“And I told you!  It doesn’t BLOODY MATTER!” He could feel himself turning pink; feel his scars standing out on his face.  It didn’t matter, because if it did, then it meant that _he_ mattered, and he could only matter if he mattered _to_ someone.  And no one cared, _no one had cared_ and so it _didn’t_ matter in the least, because no one gave a damn how he was, or where he was, or even _who_ he was, because he wasn’t wanted and he wasn’t anyone’s.  

Abruptly, the bed that he had been sitting on burst into blue flame, and he took advantage of the distraction to leave, to hightail it out of there as fast as he could move.  

“Harry?”  He thought he saw Teddy call out as he raced past him, the doors slamming themselves open as he went through.  

He didn’t know what he had been thinking, trying this world out in replacement for the other one.  Things were the same as ever.  They didn’t matter, because Dumbledore had made sure that nothing mattered regarding him.  Nothing mattered.  It had long been his mantra when the pain was too much to take, and it was his mantra now.  

Then all of a sudden he collided with something big and dark, and for a moment he flashed back to his Uncle Vernon, and before he knew it, he was scuttling backwards as fast as possible, hands up in front of his face to protect himself.  He had pushed himself into a corner before he realized that someone was talking to him, hands on his shoulders, a dark headed man crouching in front of him, looking so very familiar.  

A hand went to his face and just like before, he found himself being grounded by that simple touch, and suddenly the world came back into focus around him.  

“Professor?”  He choked out, his insides still curling tightly into themselves as they sought a way to escape from the inescapable present.  

“Harry, I need you to breathe now, can you do that for me?”  

He wanted to respond that of course he could that, he’d been doing it all his life, but at the same time, he realized that the hallway was beginning to spin a bit around him, and in fact, he couldn’t actually find his breath so readily after all.  

He gasped out a breath and got an encouraging nod, so he sucked another in and then repeated the process.  

When finally he found he could breathe without thinking so much about it, he asked, “Do you usually find yourself sitting in the hallways with your wayward students?  Or are you just making an exception for me?”  

Humour glinted back at him from the man’s eyes, and he consciously made himself uncurl a little.  

“Can you tell me what happened, Harry?”  

Snape’s hand moved from his face to his hand—his _right_ hand—and he flinched backwards, driving his elbow hard into the wall.  

“Don’t—don’t touch that hand, please,” he responded, shoving his right fist into his armpit.  

He could feel the edge of his crutch scraping over the hard stone floor and without thinking he retracted it with a quick jerk of his arm.  

“As you wish,” his professor said simply, laying long fingers on his other hand.  “Is this acceptable?”  

Dark eyes searched his face and he allowed his neck to creak up and down in the affirmative.  

The man was still staring at him, waiting patiently for his answer, and without warning words suddenly began spilling from his lips, “I’m not going back in there; you can’t make me go back in there.  You can yell at me, and you can take points and give me a _thousand detentions_ , but I’m NOT going back in there.”

He was breathing hard by the end of his speech, but his eye was dry as he stared resolutely back at his professor.

The Infirmary door abruptly opened, spilling bright light into the corridor where they were sitting.  Harry blinked hard at the sudden change in light, and then realized that it was Teddy he saw standing there in the doorway.  

“I’m not stayin’ either,” the other boy said, a spot under his right eye twitching.  “Sir,” he added hastily as Snape continued to stare back up at him unblinkingly.  

Harry felt, more than saw, the heavy breath expelled by the man in front of him.  

“Well then, perhaps we should take a walk,” Snape finally said after much uncomfortable silence had passed.

. . .

Severus made Nott stay with Potter while he went into the Infirmary to tell Poppy that he had both boys with him and that they were not going to be returning immediately.  He could smell smoke in the air, but nothing was burnt, and he wondered what had transpired between them.

The healer’s eyes were shadowed as she answered him, and although he was loathe to leave the boys unsupervised in the corridor for longer than necessary, he found himself _needing_ to know _what_ had happened to make her so morose.  

“Poppy?”  He asked gently, laying a hand on her shoulder.  

“Severus,” the older woman responded softly, shaking her head as though she had nothing she could offer the current situation.

“What happened?”  

“He—I confronted him about his physical state,” she whispered. “And he became very defensive, insisting repeatedly that none of it mattered, that _nothing_ mattered about any of it.”

“Is there anything I should know about what you found on your scans?”  Severus asked very carefully.

“Prosthetic eye, prosthetic leg, malnutrition, previously broken bones, broken teeth, he is deaf in his right ear and has severe to profound hearing loss in his left, two missing fingers from his right hand . . .” she trailed off, not even making note of Severus’ horrified expression. “And that’s only the most obvious of it.  His scans show a long history of abuse, leading back to sometime just after age one and a half, shortly after his parents were killed.  Severus,” Poppy finally turned back to him, “Something very bad has happened to this child, and I’m afraid that if we can’t get him to talk about it, many worse things will occur as a result.”  

Her warning rang in his ears as he left the infirmary and instructed the two boys to follow him.  Clearly, Potter was adept at reading lips, or he wouldn’t have been able to pass as a hearing person for so long.

He strode down the hallways, his mind lost in the horrors that his little snake had already been through in such a short time.  He was barely aware that he was leading them to his own private quarters, barely aware that they were there already; the walk down there seemingly having taken no time at all.  

He closed the door behind them, indicated they should take a seat on his sofa and then went to the kitchen to make tea.  However, once he was alone, he suddenly stopped and leaned over a countertop, putting his head in his hands as he sought to make sense out of the madness that had just descended upon his mind.  

 _Who would do this to a little boy???  Lily’s little boy!  Who had done this!?_  He couldn’t work it out, but the moment of solitude at least allowed him to get his head back on straight, and after another moment, he began making the tea.  The familiar motions soothed him somewhat, so that by the time he went back out into the main room of his quarters, he had found that he could handle the situation calmly once more.


	3. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you sue me, you'll get a bunch of loans and some broken cds. I swear. That's it.

Harry could tell that Pomfrey had told Snape about what she had found.  He could tell, but in a way, he was too tired to care.  Teddy’s surprising request had thrown him off-balance, and now his mind was whirring quickly as he sought to figure out the best course of action.  On top of that, his head was pounding, and he belatedly found himself remembering the shop owner’s warning to him regarding the eye he had purchased there.

She had been very clear on his need to let his eye rest at least six hours a day.

 _“That means you either take it out or you put on your patch.  It’s not your real eye, even if it looks like it and if you don’t pay attention to your body’s need for rest, you’re going to feel the consequences,”_ she had said.

He waited until Snape came back in the room before pulling out his patch, and then without further ado, he slipped it on over his right eye, just under his glasses; a movement made easier by years of practice.  It brought him back to his more familiar mono vision, and although that annoyed him, it also gave him a measure of comfort.

“You should have done that an hour ago,” was all Snape said.

“You talked to Pomfrey,” Harry accused.  Teddy kept silent, but looked back and forth between them, a confused expression plastered on his face.

“I did,” Snape answered, sitting down gracefully and indicating that they should serve themselves.

“Whatever you think you know, you don’t . . . _sir_ ,” Harry added with a sneer.

“Then enlighten us,” Snape answered coolly, a challenge evident in his eyes.

Abruptly, Harry snorted and the left side of his face curled up in a smile.

“Why should I?”  He said, crossing his arms and forcefully throwing himself backwards into the sofa cushion.

Snape did something unexpected and turned to Teddy, “Mr. Nott?  Care to enlighten Mr. Potter?”

Warily, Harry turned towards Teddy, a questioning look in his eye.

Teddy blinked back at them, his brown eyes wide as they stared at him in silence.  “Uh well,” he began hesitantly, “I dunno what’s going on precisely,” he scratched the side of his neck thoughtfully.  “But I figure that whatever it is, maybe we could help you with it?”

Harry’s eyebrows went down thoughtfully and his visible eye narrowed.  “What do you mean, ‘help?’”

“Let Mr. Nott be your ears for you, Mr. P—Harry,” Snape answered for him.

“I don’t need help,” was his stubborn response.  “I get on fine on my own.”

“And likely you have for some time, am I correct?”  Snape said, getting to his feet and towering over them both.

Harry pursed his lips and didn’t answer.

“I suggest an experiment.  Harry, you close your eye—no, do not look at me like that.  You close your eye and when Mr. Nott touches your shoulder, you open it again.  In the meantime, while your eye is closed, I am going to wander around the room speaking to you at various intervals.  You are to point at me wherever I am.  Agreed?”

“You’re the professor,” Harry shrugged.  

“Indeed.  Now close it, Mr. Potter and no peeking.”

Harry did and everything went dark.  He hated playing this “game” of Snape’s, but it would be much worse to admit that he couldn’t do it at all.  With his eye closed, he was down to his sense of touch and smell, and a bare minimum of aural awareness.

He suspected that Snape had a very low voice, and for that he was thankful, considering that his hearing was only severe in the lower tones of the register. It still wasn’t much, but he’d take it, if it kept him from getting babied like some poor helpless waif.

He could tell from the vibrations against his feet that Snape was moving, and then the air shifted across his skin and he caught a whiff of whatever ingredients the man worked with.  He felt the tension change in his jaw and he instinctively pointed with his left hand out to almost the exact spot his professor was standing in.

. . .

“Tell me Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?  No answer?”

Snape raised an eyebrow as the boy got his first location guess largely correct.  Nott stared at Potter in surprise, and in response, Severus raised a thin index finger to his lips.  Nott nodded and he moved again, stopping almost directly in front of the boy, but back a few feet.

“I wonder Mr. Potter, what is the difference between monkswood and wolfsbane?”  He paused and once again the boy pointed with almost dead on accuracy directly at his head.  “You don’t know?  Pity,” he added, smirking a bit at the grimace on Nott’s face.  He moved again, heading back to the original spot, but back in the far corner.

“Where will you find a bezoar?” He called out in a perfectly audible voice.

It took the boy a moment longer to make up his mind, but when he did, it was almost right.  The child’s finger was only off a foot or so, which was still better than any of his hearing students would be able to manage, should their precious eyes be closed.

“Touch Mr. Potter’s shoulder now, Mr. Nott,” he instructed and headed back to his seat, only to find his half-drunk cup of tea cold.  With a frown, he waved his hand over it and heated it back up with a silent, wandless incantation.  Then, on a whim he did the same to the boys’ cups as well, sending thin wisps of steam into the air with each.

“Well Mr. Potter, very impressive,” he paused, letting the boy relax before levelling the next set of inquiries on him.  “So tell me, what were the answers?”

“The answers?  Sir?”  Potter responded quickly, licking his lips and turning subtly in his seat to Nott.

“To my questions, of course.  Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten the questions?”  Snape answered, showing his teeth with a touch of cruelty.  He did not enjoy tormenting the boy.  He merely wanted him to _understand_ why he needed their help.

“You didn’t say anything about . . . about my _answering_ your questions, sir,” Potter quickly corrected himself.

“An oversight on my part, I assure you,” Snape responded easily.  “Have your injuries also addled your brain?  Perhaps you will need extra tutoring to help _augment_ your meagre cognitive skills?”  He knew he had struck gold with that statement when the boy’s cheeks began flaming.  Potter no doubt had heard such useless drivel pointed at him before.

“My _cognitive_ skills, as you put them sir,” Potter quite nearly snarled at him, “Are perfectly fine.”

Snape had no doubt of that.

“Would you like Mr. Nott to _enlighten_ you on what it was I said?”

“Do the professors here _often_ require their students to learn with their eyes closed?”  Potter elegantly sidestepped the issue at hand.

“No,” he paused, allowing the boy another moment of triumph, regardless of how hollow it might ultimately be.  “But they do teach with their _backs_ to their students.  It occurs while they are writing at the board, or perhaps they might be _behind_ you while you are working on something at your desk.”

Potter looked ready to retort, but Snape responded first.  “And before you say something _moronic_ like always having _gotten by_ in the past,” he hissed.  “Let me propose a scenario for you.  Perhaps you are working on a potion in _my class_ , with say, Mr. Nott as your esteemed partner.  I happen to notice from the _other side of the room_ that you are about to add an extra snake’s fang to a potion that only requires _one_.  I know, as your _professor_ , that adding that particular extra ingredient will cause a violent explosion and probably take out _half_ of your classmates.  Therefore, I shout from my side of the room, behind _your_ back, for you to freeze and put it down.  You don’t hear me and include it anyway.”  Severus leaned back in his seat, an ugly expression on his face.  “Should you survive, Mr. Potter, you’ll likely see ten to fifteen years in Azkaban for inadvertently _murdering_ those around you.  Azkaban, if you are unfamiliar, is—.”

“—The wizarding prison,” Potter interjected, a tense and unreadable wave of emotion flickering across his face.  “I heard.  Sir.”

Severus wanted to ask for his source on such a topic, knowing all too well the kind of inane rumours that his upper years often told the younger students, but he kept his mouth shut.  Now was not the time.

“Having someone _help_ me in that situation wouldn’t do much good, sir,” Potter continued, his shoulders hunched in defensively.

“But perhaps if you had been able to hear my instructions initially, you would have taken note and already _known_ the consequences for such a foolish mistake.”

They stared at one another in uncomfortable silence, until Potter finally spoke again.

“Perhaps,” the boy said, clenching his teeth briefly before reluctantly continuing on. “Perhaps you have a point.  Sir.”  A green eye stared balefully up at him, and Severus knew how much it must have cost him to admit to such a thing.

“I’m not an idiot, sir.” Potter added a moment later.  “I don’t want you treating me like a baby, or, or—,” the boy’s lips pursed white.  “Or some kind of _freak_ ,” he finally managed, his lower lip trembling for the briefest of seconds.

“I have no doubt that you are probably just as intelligent as your mother was,” was Snape’s only response, as he stood up and removed the remainders of their tea from the room with a well placed flick of his wand.  He waited until he heard the cups land gently in his sink and then he continued. “If you have no objection, I will transfigure the sofa into one large bed and you two can sleep here for the night.  Or you can take the floor.  I don’t really care.”

The sofa was easily taken care of and soon he had a full sized bed in the centre of his quarters. He had made its covers and pillows dark green with silver trimmings, and it was easily big enough for two full grown adults.  His two little snakes would be swamped in it, but hopefully it would be comfortable enough for them to sleep without being annoyed by the other.  He was on his way out of the room, after having explained where the toilet was and that he always kept its light on—a lie, but only a small one—when Potter’s voice called out to him.

“Sir,” the boy stood there looking ridiculously tiny in the pyjamas Severus had transfigured for him from his robes.

“Yes Harry?”  It was late.  He could afford to be a bit informal at such an hour.

“My mum—she was pretty smart?”  Was Harry’s hesitantly spoken question.

“She was one of the most intelligent witches I’ve ever known,” Severus quickly responded.

The boy nodded and Severus turned and left the room, turning out the lights as he went—except for the aforementioned toilet.

. . .

Harry and Nott lay side by side in the middle of the bed talking as they tried to relax enough to go to sleep.  Harry’s magical eye had a form of night vision that allowed him to focus on the faces of those around him, and for that reason he had pulled off the patch.

“What questions did he ask?” He whispered to Teddy first.

“You really couldn’t hear him?”  Teddy asked.

“Nuh uh,” Harry shook his head in the negative.  “Can’t hear much anymore, really,” he admitted a touch sourly.

“Well,” Teddy paused, thinking.  “First, he asked about what he’d get if he added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood.”

“Draught of Living Death, isn’t it?  I read that in the book, I think,” Harry said quietly.

“Yeah, that was it.  My da’s talked about that before.  Scary stuff,” Teddy answered, shivering a bit.

“What else did he ask?”  Harry prompted when it seemed like Teddy would never go on.

“The difference between monkswood and wolfsbane—which is stupid, ‘cause—.”

“’Cause they’re the same thing!” They both said together, breaking into giggles as only eleven year old boys can do.

“And then?”

“Um, he asked where to find a bezoar.”

“Hm,” Harry responded quietly.  “I dunno.  I don’t think I got that far.  You?”

“I remember reading about it,” Teddy answered, throwing his head down on the pillow as if he hoped to jar the memory out of his brain forcefully.

“That’s a weird word.  I would have remembered it if I’d read it.”

They chattered on like that for a few more minutes before finally Teddy was startled when he heard Snape’s deep voice yell out, “It is found in the stomach of a goat!  Tell Potter and then go to sleep!”

“What’d he say?”  Harry asked as his new ally jumped and then froze as though listening to something from the other room.

“Said to tell you it’s found in the stomach of a goat and that we’re to go to sleep!”  Teddy stammered back, his eyes wide in Harry’s eye.

Silence, then Harry whispered, “Night Teddy.”

“Night Harry.”

They whispered together for another second and then both yelled out, “NIGHT PROFESSOR SNAPE!”

They were quiet after that.


	4. The First Week

  
Snape got Harry and Teddy back to the Slytherin dormitory early the next morning so that they could change clothes and head to the Great Hall with the other first years.  Or at least, that was Snape’s plan for them.  Luckily Teddy and Harry had their own room together, so there was no need to involve any of the other first year boys that morning.  True to the plan, they did shower and change, but instead of waiting for their classmates, they made for breakfast on their own.

Harry had quite a developed sense of direction, thanks to his years wandering the streets of London by himself.  When he wasn’t living at the Dursleys, which was most of the time from age eight onwards, he spent living on his own, responsible only to himself.

No one noticed the two first years slipping out of their dormitory that day, and they met no one else on their way to breakfast.  True to his word, Harry took them directly there, keeping them from getting lost the entire way.

It wasn’t until after they had left breakfast and headed for their first class that the staring began.  Teddy informed him later that there had been whispers as well, but Harry hadn’t noticed.  He’d been too focused on finding his classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts, which he knew because he had had time to count them while being stuck on them during the course of his first day.  Teddy thought he was crazy for doing it, but he preferred to know what his options were.

There were wide sweeping staircases, which weren’t so bad, because Harry could manoeuvre his crutch easily on them without being crushed by the other students.  On the other hand, after taking three narrow and rickety ones, he vowed to either find alternate routes or learn how to fly.  They were hair-raising to climb.  He could feel the creaking of the steps through his feet, and with his crutch in the way, it meant that there could only be one way for the traffic to move. No one could go past him, although several larger Gryffindor boys had tried, only to fail when he expertly jabbed his foot into the last one’s arse; causing them all to fall over like a set of dominoes.

They discovered that some of the staircases led somewhere different on Friday, and some seemed to be booby trapped to catch your foot.  All in all, Harry found the staircases to be a little too sentient than what he was used to, and what he’d prefer to deal with on a regular basis.

As if that weren’t bad enough, the doors seemed to enjoy playing with the students as well.  Some wouldn’t open unless you asked politely—Nott figured those out first, since Harry couldn’t hear the other students asking.  There were also doors that wouldn’t open unless you tickled them in exactly the right spot, like the entrance to the kitchens that they found their third day in.

It helped that they’d been following the Weasley twins and seen them tickle the pear, but it was still a thrill to know something that their classmates were completely unaware of.

Then of course, there were the doors that weren’t really doors at all, but just solid walls pretending.  Harry discovered early on that he had a knack for detecting which was which though.  He could smell a difference in the air next to a real door, and the air next to a pretending wall just didn’t smell the same.  It was thanks to that talent that they figured out several shortcuts through the castle.

Unfortunately, everything also seemed to move around a lot, which made it hard to get a full concept of how everything fit together.  Luckily, Harry’s experience from his time on the streets worked in his favour once again; so even when the suits of armour randomly changed positions with each other, he still seemed to be able to find where he was going with a minimum of fuss.

  
Their most boring class was easily History of Magic, which hopefully was the only one taught by a ghost.  Luckily for him, Binns was unusually solid in appearance, and therefore Harry was still able to read his lips.  Of course, that didn’t mean that he actually gave a _damn_ about the goblin wars, but if he wanted to, the option was at least there.  Thus far, with the exception of Binns and the Bloody Baron, he had largely found the other ghosts incomprehensible.  

. . .

  
Harry and Teddy were walking to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology one Wednesday afternoon, when suddenly someone who was walking behind him shoved hard into his shoulder.  He pivoted around, using his crutch as a support and saw that it was none other than the idiot Gryffindor boy, Ronald something or other.

“Oh, I’m SORRY,” the boy said with a grin, laughing to a few of his friends as he did.  The other boy didn’t seem to care one whit that he had nearly pushed Harry facedown into the muddy earth.

“Prat,” Teddy muttered beside him.

Harry didn’t respond, he just continued to stare until the boy got uncomfortable and moved ahead of him.  Then he snorted and turned to Teddy with an eyebrow cocked.  “Must be pretty hard for him to see, don’t you think?  I mean, what with this head up his arse and all.”

The rest of the Slytherins around him burst into sudden laughter, snickering the rest of the walk to their class, and then smirking every time they saw the redheaded boy do anything stupid for the rest of the hour.

The only one who didn’t laugh was Malfoy, and like the Gryffindor boy, Harry vowed to keep a closer eye on him.

. . .

The class that Harry was really looking forwards to, aside from Potions, was Transfiguration.  As luck would have it, the stern faced woman that had been in charge of Sorting turned out to be the professor that taught that class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she told them, her eyes flicking over each of them in turn.  She gave them a rundown of the basics, not much different from what he had read in the book, and then they began on their first practical lesson.

Harry raised his hand as most of his classmates started to work on changing their matchsticks to needles.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”  She asked, coming over to his desk and staring down her nose at him.

“Professor, I was wondering if it was _necessary_ to use one’s wand for transfiguration,” he said, unaware that the room had fallen silent around him.

“As the use of one’s wand is a means of channelling your magical ability into something more concrete and finite, I would have to say yes it is, Mr. Potter,” she answered carefully, her eyes back and forth across his face curiously.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured, putting his head back down towards his assignment.

At the end of the class, Hermione Granger was the only one who had managed to cause any change in her matchstick, having caused the end to turn silver and pointy.  For this, McGonagall awarded her points.  Harry didn’t care about the points, but he was interested in the small proud smile she gave the girl when she found out what she had done.

He waited until the rest had filed out—Teddy having promised to wait in the hallway—before going up to the front of the room to speak with McGonagall once more.

“Professor?”  He asked.

“Shouldn’t you be getting onto your next class, Mr. Potter?”

“I disagree with you about the use of a wand to transfigure items.”

“Excuse me?”  She said, her lips pursing in annoyance.

“It seems to me,” he said, speaking very slowly in an attempt to be clear. “That transfiguration has more to do with _intent_ than creation.”

“You’re arguing semantics,” she shot back, eyes narrowing as she made to stand.  “I didn’t see you do any better than the majority of your classmates, so for now this argument is pointless.”

“Of course,” he answered, giving a short bow.  “Oh but, Professor?”

This time she did stand, towering over him in an obvious desire to intimidate him.

“Really, you should be going now.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, dropping something on her desk and slowly limping out the door.

Minerva watched the boy go, a frown on her face at how _different_ he seemed from his parents.  Then she looked at her desk to see what it was that he had dropped.  Flabbergasted, she reached down and carefully picked up a perfectly transfigured needle.

. . .

Severus had just begun grading some of the summer assignments when he heard a knock against his office door.

“Come!”  He barked irritably.  He hoped to Merlin and beyond that it wasn’t the Headmaster asking for another _bloody favour_.

In some ways, who came through the door was worse, really.

“Moody,” he hissed, trying to look casual as he got to his feet and flicked his wand into close proximity under his sleeve.

The older Auror stomped in with that uneven gait of his, pausing only to slam the door shut behind him.

“Oh don’t get your knickers in a twist,” the older man muttered, throwing himself into one of the sturdier chairs in front of Severus’ desk.  “This isn’t about _business_ ,” he added, giving Severus a harsh look over with his good eye.

“What do you want then?”  Severus retorted nastily, leaning over his desk and scowling hard at the scarred creature sitting before him.

“Understand that Potter was sorted into your house,” Moody answered casually, taking a well practiced chug from his hip flask.

“And your interest in him stems from what, precisely?”  Severus snapped, allowing himself to perch ever so lightly on the back corner of his desk.

“How much do you know about where that boy has been for the last four years?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed suspiciously.  Why, of _all people_ , would Moody be the one to know something like that about _his_ little snake???

Seeming to instinctively understand his unspoken question, Moody explained, “Dumbledore asked me—as a favour, mind,” the older man eyed Severus pointedly, “to take Potter to Diagon Alley for his school supplies.”

 _Dumbledore must have already know about Potter’s physical state_ , Severus mused.  It wasn’t surprising that the headmaster knew; what was surprising was that he had allowed such a serious injury to _occur_ to someone like _Potter._

“And the boy’s relatives could not take him?”

“Weren’t none to take him.”

Severus cocked an eyebrow and asked, “What precisely do you mean by that?”

“The lad weren’t living with ‘em,” Moody shrugged nonchalantly, though he continued glancing at Severus furtively as though to gauge his reaction.

“Did you inform Dumbledore of this?” Severus asked, trying to refrain from drumming his fingers on his desktop.

“He didn’t ask,” Moody answered.

“You weren’t worried about his reaction at having such a thing kept from him?”  Severus wasn’t sure whether to be impressed with Moody’s bravery or disdainful of his stupidity.

“Dumbledore ain’t _my_ keeper,” was Moody’s answer.

Although the implied barb stung, Severus did his best to keep his emotional face down to a bare minimum.

“Why are you here, Moody?” asked Severus tautly.  He was getting quite tired of the old Auror’s penchant for conducting an interview as if it were an interrogation.  The man was concerned for Harry, but why?  What were his reasons for this visit?

“Potter,” the older man stated.  Moody’s good eye was settled upon Severus while the mechanical eye had the disturbing habit of rolling about, eyeing everything that was in the Potions Master’s office.

Severus’ lips thinned.  “Yes, I had surmised that.  If you have something to tell me, then do so.”  He glared at the older man’s worn, and perpetually wrinkled robes.  “I believe you are drawing flies.”

Moody barked out a laugh.  “Just friends, Snape!”  He leaned suddenly forward, one gnarled fist on the knee of his artificial leg.  “Have ye talked to the boy, Snape?  About what brought him to his state?”

“Beyond what I needed to know from a medical standpoint,” shrugged Severus, to give himself an air of nonchalance.  “If Mr. Potter wishes to tell me something, then it is he who must come to me.”  

As Severus expected, Moody was annoyed by the tall man’s air of unconcern.  He rose stiffly from his chair, stomped noisily about the office, and then turned his mechanical eye accusingly upon the younger man.  “I do my research, Snape, and you better have more than a passing curiosity about that boy!  If you don’t, I wouldn’t be surprised if he winds up happily in the lap of some of your old buddies!”

Severus, no longer protected from the old Auror by the imposition of his desk between them, found himself inexorably backed up against a wall in his office.  Behind him, the shelves of the bookshelf dug into various points of his thin body painfully.

Whereas Moody had used his bulk to intimidate, Severus was quicker to use his wand, which had been resting neatly in the palm of his hand.  He raised his wand, and the Auror backed away, with an annoying smirk on his face despite the wand tip that threatened.

“Gonna attack me here in Hogwarts, Snape?” Moody asked.  

“Why exactly do you think a _Potter_ would be in danger of falling in with the wrong crowd?”  

For once, both of Moody’s eyes stared straight at him, and though he was loathe to admit it, Severus found the effect very chilling.  

“He hasn’t got any connection ta his parents, _Snape_ ,” the older man spat out in a rough whisper.  “He hasn’t got any bloody generations of people to look up to, or ta stand by him.  He’s alone, and as alone as he can be.”  The Auror pointed a gnarled finger towards him and Severus resisted the urge to back away.  “Might even be more alone than you; which is sayin’ something.”  Moody shook his head.  

Slowly Severus dropped his wand and then with a flick of his wrist, he reinserted it into his wand holster.  

“You bought him the crutch,” Severus said finally, the truth dawning in  his mind.  

“And the leg” Moody said with a nod, the humour gone from his face.   “He bought the eye himself.  Can’t say as I blame him.”  

“Although it is usually my tradition to allow my snakes to come to me, I will _attempt_ to make inroads with the lad in some form or fashion sooner as opposed to later.”  Severus finally said, not bothering to mention the events that had transpired that first night of the term.  

After all, there were some things that needed to remain secret just between him and his snakes.  


	5. Potions

At breakfast one morning, he and Teddy sat down next their classmates, all of whom seemed to be deeply engrossed in a conversation about something.

"What are they talking about?" Harry carefully asked after checking that no one was looking at them.

"Double Potions with the Gryffindors," Teddy growled with a shake of his head. "I hate having classes with those dorks. At least Snape's our head of house. I heard that he really gives them what for. I hope he does rub their noses in it. I'd like to bring that smarmy Weasley down a couple of notches."

Harry snorted in amusement at Teddy's enthusiasm. He didn't really have a problem with the Gryffindors, with the exception of Weasley. There was something about seeing that smirk and red hair that just rubbed him the wrong way. It didn't help that Weasley seemed to be going out of his way to make their lives miserable.

"Well, if Snape does go off on them, it's not as though they won't have deserved it." He answered logically.

They got to the corridor outside the Potions classroom first, and were joined by the other Slytherins shortly after. As always, they watched to see whom the others talked to. It wasn't a surprise to see that Draco had latched onto Crabbe and Goyle as bodyguards, but it was notable to see him talking to Zabini. Harry hadn't made up his mind about the dark skinned boy quite yet, as he didn't ever seem to talk. He wasn't sure if that was due to shyness or something else, like him.

As was becoming the norm, Parkinson was with Greengrass, while Millicent stood by herself farther off from them all.

"Know much about her?" Harry asked, glancing quickly at the lone girl and then looking back at Teddy.

"Neutral family, so no, I don't know too much," Teddy answered with a slight grin.

"Maybe we should talk to her later," he replied, keeping his head down to muffle the sound. He really needed to learn some silencing spells. He hated not being able to tell how loud he was. It hadn't bothered him much over the last few years, but then again, he hadn't been in school . . . much.

He grinned at the memory of the things he had learned instead; pick pocketing, for instance.

"Couldn't hurt—," Teddy began, diverting his eyes mid-answer. He was looking at something behind Harry.

"Dorks?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Dork," Teddy clarified with a roll of his eyes.

Now that he thought about it, Harry realized that he _could_ feel a slight vibration under his feet. He liked the new shoes he had gotten in Diagon Alley, but it was times like this that he missed his old, threadbare ones.

 _Maybe there's a spell I can use on my feet to increase their sensitivity, shoes or not,_ he thought, turning around to look at the scowling red head coming up behind him.

"You're still here?" Weasley spat, jabbing a long finger into the space between them.

"Clearly," Harry coolly responded, keeping his face neutral.

Weasley abruptly grinned and then laughed, presumably at something said by one of his housemates from behind him. "Surprised one of your housemates hasn't accidentally thrown you down the stairs. If it were me, you'd already be laid out on a mattress in the infirmary."

The left side of Harry's mouth came up in response to the cold threat, but otherwise he kept his composure. An idea had occurred to him while Weasley's lips had been flapping, and he fully intended on using it.

"What are you smiling about?" Weasley accused, stepping forwards and roughly grabbing him by the front of his robes.

"Oh hi Professor Snape!" Harry yelled out, looking at a spot just over the other boy's left ear.  
Abruptly, Weasley dropped him and spun around open mouthed, only to discover that the corridor behind him was missing the fabled Potions professor.

Harry wasted no time. He retracted his crutch as he found his feet, and then when the gangly boy turned back around to face him, he was ready. He didn't wait for Weasley to grab him again, but threw himself forwards, swinging his arm out in front of his body and flicking his wrist. The crutch lengthened from its collapsed state, thrusting forwards faster than a punch, directly into his classmate's nose.

Harry didn't hear it break, but he did feel the impact as the vibrations travelled up his arm, and he saw the blood spray as Weasley's head was thrown backwards.

He scuttled backwards away from the bleeding boy, knowing better than to be caught nearby. It was a good thing too, because less than a minute passed before Professor Snape was suddenly there in the hallway with them.

"Mr. Weasley, why must you drop your bodily fluids all over my nice clean hallway?" Snape said, dropping to a knee beside the downed boy, his back to the class, preventing Harry from "hearing" anything else.

He turned to look at Teddy and tapped his ear, glancing at Snape pointedly. The other boy merely shook his head, and Harry was relieved that he wasn't missing anything else.

"Who is responsible for this?" The man finally asked, turning around and glaring at them.  
Silence was their only response, and Harry could tell that Snape also hadn't gotten an answer from anyone else by the way he suddenly pursed his lips.

"I see," Snape finally said, his dark eyes glinting with something Harry didn't want to look too closely at.

He resisted the urge to look around at each of his classmates, or peer closer to see what Snape was doing to Weasley. The only ones doing that seemed to be the Gryffindors, gawking like a large gathering of monkeys.

Finally Snape stood and helped Weasley up as well. The blood was now staunched and the nose looked to be healed, but there was an ugly bruise spreading across the boy's face, and one of his eyes was swollen shut.

"You there, Granger!" Snape suddenly barked at the girl McGonagall had smiled at. "Take him to the Infirmary, and then return."

Harry watched in awe as his head of house's robes flared around him as he moved, and then Teddy was poking him in the back to get him to go into the classroom. They went to a table at the far side of the room, near the front of the classroom and slid into their seats just as Snape began to berate the Gryffindors for being so slow.

Once they were all seated and paying attention, Snape began speaking. "I don't want to ever see something like that outside my classroom again."

Although their professor was looking at the entire class with that statement, Harry had a feeling that the man already had his suspicions as to who was behind the attack.

 _More than suspicions,_ he thought with a small shiver, before silent berating himself. After all, _what's the worst he can do to me? Beat me to unconsciousness? Doubtful!_

Feeling somewhat better, he refocused his attention on Snape who was pacing back and forth in front of them, his dark robes rippling behind him in an invisible wind.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. There is very little silly wand waving to be done here. This is not a classroom to play in, and I am _not_ a professor to cross. Do you understand me?" Snape glared at them, and Harry was thankful that no one was stupid enough to talk back.

*"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses," Snape stopped mid-pace and a collective feeling of unease went through the class as a whole. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry felt a sudden urge to show him that he was anything but a dunderhead, but the moment was broken when a knock came at the door. It was Granger, and Snape looked at her as though she had stepped in something, and dared to walk back into his classroom without first cleaning her shoe off. She quickly scuttled to an empty seat, just as Snape began firing questions at Harry's hapless classmates.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape said, starting with a round faced boy sitting at the far back on the Gryffindor side.

"Sir?" The boy shook, but managed to keep his tears at bay.

There were snickers throughout the classroom that Harry didn't hear, although he did see the degrading looks both the Slytherins and the Gryffindors shot the boy. His eyes narrowed as he carefully watched the exchange occur between teacher and student.

"Tell me Mr. Longbottom, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry could see the other boy's mouth working, could see his lips trying to form words, but what caught his attention the most was the pleading way that Longbottom's eyes stared out at everyone in a desperate plea for help.

"No answer? Couldn't bother to crack the textbook before coming to class? I do hope you will correct that mistake by the next class."

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape whirled on his foot towards the sour looking blond boy sitting a few feet away from where Harry and Teddy were. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There isn't a difference, sir. They're the same thing," Malfoy answered, receiving a gleam of approval from their otherwise dour faced head of house.

"Correct," Snape answered with a brief, nearly feral looking smile. "Five points to Slytherin."

"Now, who can tell me where I might find a bezoar?"

Granger's wildly waving arm caught Harry's attention, but Snape ignored her as he sought out his own victim.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Snape looked down at him calculating eyes and Harry forced himself to remain still, regardless of whatever came next.

"Yes sir," he answered in what he hoped was a clear voice. "A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat, sir."

"Correct," Snape said, pausing and then straightening back up with an almost audible snap of his spine. "Why are you staring at me like mindless sheep? You should be writing this down!"

The rest of the class was spent taking copious notes, and more than a few times, Harry found himself thankful to Teddy for letting him share notes whenever their professor moved out of his range of vision.

Just as they were packing up to leave, Snape looked up and stared straight at him. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott. A word after class, if you please."

Harry didn't bother to think on what would happen if they _didn't_ do as requested. He only nodded, and hoped that Teddy was doing the same.

. . .

Severus waited until the class had cleared out before turning to his two little troublemakers.

"Mr. Nott, it occurred to me that you never had your physical. At the end of this meeting, I shall escort you there myself, and I will stay until you are done. Is that understood?"

"Uh, yes sir," the boy answered, glancing at Potter quickly with an almost unreadable message in his eyes.

"Very good, Mr. Nott. Go wait in the hallway while I have a word with your . . . _compatriot_."

"Yes sir," Nott answered smartly, shrugging at Harry as he left, making it clear he had no choice.

Potter, for his part didn't flinch as Snape levelled ebon eyes on his face, and unbidden, Moody's warning rose in his mind. He scowled at the unwanted sound of the Auror's voice and then firmly pushed it from his head.

"Why must you go making trouble your _very_ first week at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter? You are extremely lucky that Weasley's parents do not have the monetary assets to _sue_ you, but that will not always be the case."

Potter opened his mouth as though to respond, but then seemed to think better of it and closed it with an audible click.

"Have you nothing to say in your defence?" Severus hissed, leaning down over his desk to look his young snake in the eye.

"It doesn't seem as though it will make a difference, _sir_ ," was the boy's carefully spoken answer.

"And why do you suppose that? Please do enlighten us."

"I would think that my being in your house would enable you to support me, sir."

Severus grimaced and then retorted, "I am supporting you, you little idiot."

Colour came to Potter's cheeks, and he shot back, "Then why is it automatically my fault?"

"You think I couldn't tell? I've seen the way you two have looked at one another in the hallway! I know he's been taunting you, at least to a degree in his own moronic Gryffindor way."

"Not proof though _sir_."

Severus sneered disdainfully at his young snake. "Proof? The proof is in the blood on your crutch. Go ahead and look, if you so desire. The imprint from its foot was on his _face_. Very sloppy, Mr. Potter. That was a move a _muggle_ would make; not the kind of thing I expect from one of _my_ snakes."

The boy's jaw clenched and then abruptly his composure smoothed. "Is that all sir? Or do I have detention as well?"

"Oh detention, Mr. Potter, most assuredly."

"Yes sir," Potter answered, pursing his lips and then turning on his heel and stalking out of the classroom, his limp only barely noticeable.

However, Severus listened and noticed that as soon as the boy reached the hallway, his gait slowed and the space between his steps changed. Unbidden, a short lived smile rose to the man's lips at the act the child was putting on, and then just as quickly it was gone.

. . .

*J.K. Rowling's words, specifically. It's just such a great quote . . .


	6. Fighting

  


Harry was headed across the Slytherin common room when it happened. A large burly second year, by the name of Benjamin Aubrey caught his robes and proceeded to slam him forcefully into the wall.

"James Potter was responsible for making my da's life miserable while he was in school. He wanted me to pass along a message," the other boy said, throwing a punch into his gut.

Hary took the punch in silence, barely catching himself on his crutch as his gut sung out painfully.

"I gave you that one," Harry called out as the boy turned to leave. "You try that again, and you'll be wearing your balls for earrings, understand?" The whole room was watching as Aubrey stopped mid-step and turned back, one fist up and the other already around his wand.

"My da said that James Potter always talked big too," Aubrey shot back angrily.

"It's not just _talk_ ," Harry clarified, stepping closer, all of his weight on his legs and his crutch just barely off the ground.

"Look at the _cripple_ try and act big!" Aubrey shouted out to the room, waving his wand at the minuscule first year still staring stonily back at him.

That's when Harry struck back. Propelling himself forwards, he whipped his crutch forwards between the other boy's legs and then jabbed his left knee into its underside. He threw the arm still attached to his crutch downwards, causing the other end to strike upwards into the other boy's groin like a rising teeter totter.

All of this took only seconds, and at the end of the altercation, Harry was left standing over the crying figure of one Benjamin Aubrey.

"Taken down by the cripple!" Harry yelled back at the stunned room. "Taken down by the _freak!_ " He said, pounding the centre of his chest with his good hand and glaring back at those who had him surrounded.

With that, he pushed through the crowd, and stalked off to the room he shared with Teddy, leaving a stunned silence behind him.

. . .

When Teddy got back from his unpleasant visit to the infirmary with Professor Snape, the first thing he noticed was the silence that pervaded the normally talkative common room. Spying Blaise Zabini at the top of the stairs leading to the boy's dorms, he quickly made his way over and started asking questions.

"Potter got attacked by this Aubrey kid," Zabini answered with a shrug.

For a moment, Teddy didn't know how to react. It was obvious that Harry could handle himself in a fight, but Benjamin Aubrey, despite only being a second year, was a _lot_ bigger than them.

"Is he okay?"

"Which one?" Zabini countered nonchalantly, his sharp eyes watching Teddy's face for any sort of telling reaction.

" _Harry_."

" _He's_ okay," Zabini answered with a sudden grin. "Aubrey, on the other hand . . . well, he's going to have fun walking for the next day or so." The dark skinned boy jerked his knee upwards and Teddy suddenly understood what had happened.

"Ouch," he winced.

"Yeah. Anyway, Potter's in your room, doing chin-ups on the doorway."

"Pardon me?"

"Been at it for twenty minutes or so," Zabini shrugged.

"And why are _you_ out here anyway?" It was Teddy's turn to stare back suspiciously.

Zabini rolled his eyes and nodded towards the room he was sharing with Malfoy. "Boy genius in there's taking his _third_ shower of the day. Did you know he _sings_ when he bathes?"

Teddy sniggered, shaking his head in the negative.

"Yeah well, god forbid I make a comment on his bloody _musicality_. Or lack thereof," Zabini shouted at him as he finally started down the hallway.

Teddy could see Harry just as Zabini had described him as he got closer their room. Their door was open and Harry moving figure was highlighted in the light spilling out from their room into the dimmer hallway.

The other boy was _drenched_ with sweat, and although his eyes were closed as he continued exercising, Teddy swore he had seen Harry flinch as he got closer to him.

His suspicion was confirmed when his roommate opened his eyes and dropped lightly down to the floor in front of him.

"Snape get you all checked out?" Was Harry's smooth answer.

"Anemia, and some other stuff," Teddy shrugged, hearing the door shut behind them as he went into the bathroom to wash his hands free of the smell of the Infirmary.

When he came out, Harry was sitting on the floor, patiently removing his leg. The first time Teddy had him do it, he had simply stared. The leg was a muggle creation that had been augmented magically to conform to Harry better than a mere _prosthesis_. Harry had explained it to him those first few nights, and Teddy now knew that most muggle prostheses required straps to hold them in place. However, Harry's leg fit him like a glove; tightening and loosening at just a word from his dark haired friend.

He still couldn't quite get his brain around the difference the leg made in Harry's overall appearance though.

Harry stood back up, flicking out both of his forearm crutches and then moving towards Teddy, his right leg on the ground where he had left it. When Harry had first taken off his leg and seen Teddy staring, he had done the unthinkable and asked him if he wanted to touch it. He had, sort of, but there was no way in hell he was about to admit such a thing!

The second forearm crutch was also a surprise. Apparently there was a disillusionment spell on it that had disengaged as soon as Harry had revealed it to him. It was blue like the other one, and Teddy realised that he was likely one of the only ones who had seen it. At that thought, a strange warmth had spread across the centre of his chest, leaving him with a strange desire to keep Harry safe, keep him as _whole_ as he was.

 _Maybe more_ , a small voice had said in his gut; leaving him wondering whether Harry had exhausted all of the possible options the _wizarding_ medical community had left to offer him.

"Hey, keep an eye on my leg while I grab a shower, 'kay?" Harry laughed as he used his remaining leg and crutches to limp to the bathroom.

The other boy had smiled at him, but there _had_ been a serious light in his eyes-or eye rather. Now that Teddy knew one of them was fake, he always looked at Harry's left, trying to discern what, if any differences there were between it and the fake one.

While Harry was in the bathroom, a knock came at the door, and Teddy mentally added another thing to his list of workarounds they needed to come up with for Harry.

As long as Teddy was in the room with him, it was okay that Harry couldn't hear it when there was someone at the door, but the same couldn't be said for when he was gone. They needed to come up with some way, a magical doorbell that rang only in their heads perhaps, to get around that particular obstacle.

Teddy cautiously opened the door, his years spent living with his father too well ingrained to ignore them now.

 _Maybe we just need a way to see through the door_. That would solve a lot of problems and make him feel safer in the process.

"Mr. Nott," the growling figure of Professor Snape stood there behind the door and Teddy silently swallowed at the sight.

"Sir," he greeted in a soft voice, his mind already on the _two_ fights Harry had been involved in just that day.

"Is Mr. Potter available?"

"He's in the shower, sir," Teddy answered quietly. Quite suddenly, he mourned the fact that there were no back doors out of their room. He wondered if they could fix that somehow.

"I see," Snape answered, staring down at him as though Teddy were telegraphing his escape route thoughts to the entire dormitory.

Maybe he was. That was another thing he needed to talk to Harry about.

"Inform Mr. Potter when he is done that I am waiting just in the common room for him."

"Yes sir," Teddy answered smartly as Snape turned to leave.

"Oh and Mr. Nott?" Snape stopped and looked back at him.

"Yes sir?" He asked, swallowing nervously.

"Do tell Mr. Potter not to dawdle. If he so much as tries to get by me without speaking to me, I will have you _both_ in detention until the New Year. Do I make myself clear?"

Teddy nodded his head up and down; too flustered to make his mouth work correctly.

"Very good. Carry on."

. . .

A nervous Teddy was waiting for him when Harry exited the bathroom, clean but wearing only a pair of trousers. The other boy stared at his right shoulder, at the mass of scar tissue left over from the "accident."

"Something up?" Harry asked, swinging himself forwards into the room and easing back onto the ground to put his leg back on.

Teddy came around and crouched in front of him to answer, "Snape's waiting for you in the common room."

"Always something, isn't it?" He responded, giving the Teddy a grin that he didn't feel.

With his leg back on and the trouser leg covering it, he collapsed his left forearm crutch back down into a hidden ring of steel around his wrist and then finished getting dressed.

Catching his arm as he was preparing to leave the room, Teddy added, "He said to tell you that if you tried to sneak past him, _we'd_ be in detention until the New Year."

"I won't, but it's not because I'm afraid of him, Teddy," he answered, pulling his arm free with a gentle shake. "I'm not afraid of anyone," he continued stiffly. "But I don't much fancy gettin' you in trouble for something I did. He shouldn't be threatening you like that." He added as he left the room for real. He didn't turn around to see how the other boy had received his proclamation, but he was sure they would talk about it eventually.

He had endured a great many things in his short life, and most of them had been unpleasant. So when he said he wasn't afraid of anything, it was more like, "There's nothing left for me to fear."

Professor Snape was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, his expression nothing like it had been that first night when he had pleaded not to have to return to the infirmary.

That was another thought altogether. He wasn't exactly _afraid_ of the Infirmary; it was more of an intense _dislike_.

"Come along, Mr. Potter. We have much to discuss."

 _I bet we do_.

. . .

Severus didn't speak as they walked out of the common room. He didn't say anything as they bypassed his office and headed for his classroom. He knew that the boy likely wouldn't know he was being talked to, and he didn't want to make it obvious to any passers-by that hearing was a problem for the "great Harry Potter."

After shepherding Harry inside, he closed the door and warded it against unwelcome visitors (i.e. anyone else). He then headed for his desk and noted with some relief that the boy was following closely after.

He took a seat atop the desk and turned back to look at his now surly first year.

"Prefect Marsh informed me that you were responsible for putting one of your _housemates_ in the Infirmary," Severus began, staring down his nose the boy in front of him.

"That's two fights in one day," he said, pausing to see if Potter would try and use the in as an opportunity to explain himself.

But the boy didn't respond and he found himself pushing on after a brief moment of silence. "Housemates are family, Mr. Potter. We do not harm our family members."

Potter's lip curled up and inwardly Severus gave a sigh of relief. Here was proof that the boy wasn't entirely impenetrable.

"We don't harm our family members?" Potter responded slowly, as though he were seriously pondering the implications of such a thing. "I suppose I'm not really _family_ then," he said, leaning his head back to look Severus straight in the eye.

He resisted the urge to pry into the boy's mind; instead responding with, "Why do you think that?"

He knew that Aubrey had begun the fight—he had gotten as much out of his Prefect—but he wanted to hear Harry tell him about it, and anything else that he might admit as well.

"Because it's okay for other . . . _people_ to hurt me, but clearly not the other way around. Sir." Potter answered stiffly.

Severus was more intrigued by what the boy didn't say.

"I have already had a conversation with Mr. Aubrey," Severus said, looking carefully back for a reaction that didn't happen. "Blaming you for the sins of your father, I believe?" He didn't like to think that he would have been responsible of the same if not for Potter being sorted into his house.

"Something like that, sir," the boy's lip curled again and Severus was struck by how different his gaze was from his mother's.

"I would have hoped that had you been in need of medical attention, you would have sought it," he prompted.

"For that, sir?" Potter bared his teeth in a good imitation of a feral cat. "That kid relies too much on his size than his strength. I've seen better punches thrown from dying five year olds."

Potter's words were clearly meant to shock Severus, and although he did feel a certain measure of discomfort, he was not willing to reveal such feelings to anyone, especially not to the boy in front of him.

"And do you spend a great deal of time with 'dying five year-olds'?"

"No, sir." Potter gave him that smile again, and Severus was suddenly glad for his years of experience against the sight of such cold indifference.

"Back to the subject at hand, Mr. Aubrey will be punished for attacking you. And if your actions had been purely in self-defence, I likely would not have punished you as well, but from the plethora of witnesses around you," here Severus sneered disdainfully. "It seems that your response was anything but self-defence."

"Is that all, sir?" The distant, unresponsive Potter had returned and Severus wanted to throttle whoever was at fault for creating such a persona in Lily's son.

"No it is not. Take a seat, Mr. Potter." It was not a suggestion.

Potter took a seat on the hard student bench just behind him, his eyes never leaving Severus' face.

"Your actions today concern me. This bold tendency of yours to lash out at whomever has raised your ire is not a healthy way to exist; nor is it a Slytherin way. In fact, physical attacks, while they do have their place, are not an acceptable method to settling a dispute here at Hogwarts."

"Why do you care? What do you get out of it?" Potter scowled back at him.

"You are one of _mine_ ," Severus hissed back with a piercing look.

"Oh right," Potter grimaced, standing up and crossing his arms defensively in front of his thin body. "Well, I promise not to _embarrass_ you in front of the other houses then," he spat back, jabbing his right index finger into the air towards him.

Severus stared at the hand that was directed at him, his mind briefly taken away at the sight of the boy's missing fingers. Without thinking, he stepped forwards and grabbed Potter's hand.

Growling, he retorted, "If this had happened while under my care, I would have found retribution for you."

"Don't touch me!" Potter jerked his hand in an effort to get free, but Snape was having none of it and merely stepped closer.

"I protect my own!"

"Bullshit!" The boy shouted back, his scars standing in stark relief from the pink of cheeks. "I don't need you to be _indebted_ to!"

"You think that is what this is about?" Severus retorted incredulously. "To use your weaknesses as a way to control you? Well, let me enlighten you, _Harry_ , I do not blackmail my students!"

"Bullshit! I seen you watching me, seen you watching everyone! I seen people just like you, watching, tallying, keeping track of what they can use against so-called weaker folks! Well guess what, I ain't weaker and you can't beat me down! I ain't afraid o' you!"

With a jerk, the boy drove his crutch into Severus' knee, causing him to lurch forwards, releasing Harry's hand as he fell. In a flash, Harry jumped over the student bench and made quickly for the now open door. He didn't see Severus pull his wand, but he did see the door slam shut in front of him.

"Open it!" Harry yelled, beating his crutch against the heavy oak of the locked door. "Open it, you bloody bastard!" He yelled, turning around in time to see Severus stalking towards him. Harry's eyes were wild, darting throughout the classroom for alternate exits.

"Harry, look at me," Severus answered, keeping his open hands out in front of his body in a non-threatening manner. "I understand that this may be difficult to understand, but I am not going to hurt you."

"I ain't a fool!" Harry screamed hysterically back, edging away from him. "I ain't weak!"

"I never said you were," Severus answered calmly, keeping eye contact as he followed the irate boy into the corner of his classroom.

"Stop staring at me like I am!" Harry's breath hitched, though his demeanour did not change. "I ain't a freak!"

He said in a slightly softer voice, leaning backwards into the stone walls of the corner he now found himself in. "I'm not!" He said, his breath hitching more noticeably as he slid to the floor in a ball.

  



	7. Not Working

"Harry, look at me, child. Look at me!" Severus muttered as he gracefully knelt before his distressed first year. Moving his hands to the boy's arms, he gently pulled them away to reveal a tear streaked face. Lily's eyes stared up accusingly at him and he had to swallow hard at the emotions that look engendered within his heart.

"You are _not_ a freak!" He growled in a forceful voice.

"And this is proof?" Harry held out his three fingered hand in front of Severus' face. "No, it's true" he shook his head, wiping furiously at the tears that were still insistently filling his eyes. "I _am_ a freak. I know it," he said weakly, turning his head away from Snape and shutting his eyes.

It was the muggle equivalent of a teenager putting their headphones on and turning their back on the person they didn't want to speak to.

"Damn it, Harry," Severus said, leaning forwards and grabbing both of the boy's hands in his own much larger ones.

Short of forcing a mental link or gathering the boy up in his arms—Merlin forbid—there was little he could do until Harry chose to face him again.

"Talk to me, damn it," Severus whispered, knowing that the child couldn't hear him.

. . .

Dumbledore sat in his office reviewing the beginning of the year reports from his teachers. He had already pulled those teachers who had Harry Potter in their classes, and he was anxiously rifling through them first.

Pulling a very unused clause from the distant recesses of one of the rule books of Hogwarts, he had managed to keep Harry's disabled status out of newspapers, and unless something new occurred to the boy, he could likely he could get away with it for the rest of the year.

It was with that reasoning that he had managed to filter the homebound owl post sent by the students regarding the boy as well. He had simply applied a charm to the wards around Hogwarts that affected all outgoing owls (and their post), blurring the word 'disabled' and scrambling the surrounding texts into something that was rather more benign.

Unfortunately, that was unlikely to work for much longer; he was already starting to get letters of inquiry from some of the more intelligent pureblood parents. Pushing the thought from his mind, he looked back down at the reports atop his desk.

_'Hermione Granger is possibly one of the most intelligent witches I have seen in many years of teaching,_ ' was a repeated line amongst many of his professors.

He smiled a bit and continued on in his reading.

_'Draco Malfoy is most certainly his father's son.'_

_'Morag MacDougal, despite being raised in a muggle household, shows a remarkable aptitude for charms.'_

_'Although Susan Bones greatly resembles Amelia, she is quite her own person."_

_'Lisa Turpin and Sabrina Fawcett are just trouble waiting to happen. I do not envy Filius for having them in his house.'_

_'I have already had to separate Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter.'_

_'Dean Thomas seems a bright chap, despite being muggleborn. He is catching on nicely. In part, I think we can thank Seamus Finnigan for helping to guide him. They are already becoming best of mates.'_

_'I have repeatedly asked you_ not _to pair Gryffindor with Slytherin in my classes, but you have denied me every year. Before this first years' class ever started, a fight broke out resulting in a broken nose for Ronald Weasley. I think you also ought to be aware that Neville Longbottom is a menace around a cauldron and will likely need outside tutoring to refrain from killing all of his classmates. And before you ask,_ no _, I am not joking.'_

_'There seems to be an indeterminate amount of tension between Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter.'_

_'I cannot get Gregory Goyle or Vincent Crabbe to answer in anything other than grunts. Truthfully Albus, they resemble two large lumps of clay sitting in my classroom._

_'Michael Corner seems to be unaware of the great adoration the female population has for him.'_

_'Ernie Macmillan is either deliberately annoying the other children or he is simply oblivious to their feelings.'_

_'Harry Potter is nothing like his parents, and as far as I can tell, neither is Theodore Nott.'_

_'Millicent Bulstrode does not seem to be getting on well with her year mates.'_

_'The first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws class is made up entirely of dunderheads. Sally-Anne Perks was the only one of her classmates to get her potion right and even her sample was off-colour.'_

_'Harry Potter is unaccountably quiet in class. He refused to attempt the Levitation charm, but then again, he was not the only one. I fear that Hermione Granger's early success may have cowed the others."_

_'Neville Longbottom is showing early signs of talent in Herbology. The plants simply respond better to his presence than some of the others. On that note, Ronald Weasley has already done something to draw the ire of the Slytherin students . . .'_

. . .

"Let go," Harry whispered, jerking his hands out of his grasp. Severus let them go without a fuss and then sat back and waited for something more to happen.

He watched as the boy hastily scrubbed at the leftover tears on his face and then opened his eyes to gaze silently back.

"You are _not_ a freak, Harry," Severus felt compelled to reiterate.

"You're lyin', but I can appreciate the sentiment," Harry answered with a grimace as he pushed himself back upright. Severus stood as well, but took a step backwards to give the lad some space.

"Why do you think I am lying?" He asked.

Harry didn't say anything immediately. Instead, he stalked back up the front of the room as Severus trailed ever so slightly behind him. It wasn't until they were back where they had started that Harry finally turned and answered his question.

"Don't know if you've looked around lately, but most _people_ have both their legs. Most people have five fingers on each hand, and they don't look like they were just run over by a lorry!"

Severus pursed his lips and then responded, "And what of Moody? Is he a 'freak' as well?"

Harry's mouth twisted bitterly at the mention of Moody's name. "We're both freaks. He's just a lot older'n me."

"I doubt he would describe himself as such," Severus countered, crossing his arms and leaning back against his desk.

" _He_ might not, but I do," Harry answered quickly, shoving his thumb into the front of his chest. "And you can ask him about it, if you like."

Briefly, Severus wondered if the boy was actually going to _dare_ him to do such a thing, but then the moment passed, and the thought was gone from his mind.

"Is age the only reason you feel you are different from Moody?" He probed, raising an eyebrow.

The boy's face darkened again and Severus steeled himself for an explosion that didn't come.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Harry muttered after a bit, twisting his crutch between both hands in what Severus saw as a nervous behaviour.

"In what way?"

The boy's shoulders lifted in a shrug, but Severus didn't call him out for it. He waited instead, sensing that there was more that Harry needed to say.

"He's got magic," Harry answered at last, pivoting on his heel and turning back to look at Severus with a bitter scowl.

"As do you."

" _Liar_ ," Harry said with a growl, green eyes piercing their way into his heart.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't," Severus persisted, narrowing his eyes at the enigma standing before him.

"Because Dumbledore never makes mistakes?" The hatred in the boy's composure was remarkably different from his prior anger. Then in an instant, the pure wave of feeling rolling through him was gone and Severus was left blinking at the change.

"Hogwarts does not allow muggles to see the castle for what it is. Why are you so intent on believing you have no magic? From what I know of your _accident,"_ he noted how Harry stiffened on that word. "If not for your wild magic, you would not have survived at all."

"Then why can't I do magic?" Green eyes stared accusingly up at him.

Severus knelt down in front of his small angry snake. "Harry, you are only a _first year_. Your classmates cannot do much in the way of magic either."

"Not true," Harry bit out from behind clenched teeth.

"Of course there are a few exceptions, there always are, but for the most part you are exactly where you should be," Severus patiently explained.

"Not true!"

"What isn't?" Severus retorted coolly, shifting to peer directly into the boy's livid green eyes.

"I can't do the spells."

"Which ones?"

"The ones the others can do. The ones my poor defenceless _muggle classmates_ can do," Harry spat out, his fist clenching white knuckled around his crutch.

"It takes longer for some than it does for others—," Severus started.

"You don't understand!"

"Then enlighten me," Severus said carefully, the challenge evident in his eyes.

"I can't _do_ them; damn it," Harry roughly rubbed a hand through his spiked hair. "I can't do them, because I can't _say_ them, because I can't say them _right_." He turned away from Snape and in a fit of rage he suddenly threw his crutch across the room, yelling "BOLLOCKS!" as he did. His shoulders shook, but when he finally turned back to Severus, his face was clear of any telling emotions.

"This isn't going to work," the boy said in a gravelly voice. "I ought to just get out now. Go back to where I was. Forget about this shite," he said, dropping onto the student bench just behind him and driving another hard hand through his hair.

Thoughtfully, Severus watched Harry for a moment longer and then stood up and moved to the board. Summoning some chalk from his desk, he quickly wrote out a series of phrases, only turning back to the boy when he was done. Unsurprisingly, he found that Harry was watching him.

"Win-GAR-dee-um lev-ee-OH-sa," he said, reading it slowly out loud. "Let me see your wand motions," Severus instructed, watching as the boy clumsily handled—or mishandled, rather—his wand.

"There's part of your difficulty right there. You are looping your hand far too high into the air."

Harry tried again and Severus watched with a critical eye.

"No, watch me," he corrected, going to where the boy was seated and taking a seat next to him on the hard student bench. He demonstrated the wand motion from beside the boy and then made him repeat it until it was correct.

"Now try."

He watched Harry attempt the spell on a feather that Severus had conjured, but the feather still did not move. When he listened closely to the boy's speech, he could hear a bit of slurring between some of the words, and although he knew the child was trying his best, it simply wasn't getting any better. Harry simply could not _hear_ himself making the mistakes and Severus was hard pressed to right the difficulty.

"I told you," Harry said after another ten minutes of fruitless attempts. He slumped forwards, dangling his wand between his fingers.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Severus that made him want to smack himself for not having broached the question earlier, "Harry, do you know sign language?"

"Some," was the lacklustre response. "The nurses taught me a bit when they realised that my hearing wasn't getting any better. "Why?" Sharp eyes flicked at him questioningly.

"It is possible that we may be able to adapt something to work to your favour. And if that does not work, then I believe it is entirely possible that you may be capable of wandless magic."

"Isn't that—?" Harry abruptly straightened, eyes sharpening in focus as he stared back at Severus. "That's silent magic, right?"

Severus shook his head in the negative and said, "Not necessarily.  It is merely what it sounds like.  Magic without a wand.  It does not need to be silent, but it can be very advantageous in certain situations to have it be so."

"Do you think I could learn that?" Harry's eyes were looking at him in sudden hopefulness and Severus found himself briefly mesmerized by the sight.

After a breath of silence, Severus answered, "I think it is distinctly possible. It may also be advantageous to look at not only British Sign Language sources, but also American Sign Language ones as well. The Americans," here Severus paused and rolled his eyes for good measure. He was pleased when the boy let out a soft laugh at his action. "Despite their otherwise sordid history and practices in general, they have managed to contribute a _few_ useful things to the Wizarding society as a whole, and their use of one handed sign language may turn out to be one of those."

"Sir," Harry paused with a befuddled expression, "What _do_ deaf wizards and witches do in the UK in order to do their spells?"

"Unfortunately, in the past, magical people who have been unable to speak the spells were often treated little better than squibs. For families of more substantial means though," Severus grimaced slightly, "private tutors were often brought in, or else those children were sent to other, more open minded countries."

"Is America one of those?" Harry's brow was wrinkled as though he couldn't quite imagine it.

Severus pursed his lips irritably before beginning to speak, "Given America's age as a country, practices of any kind tend to be newer and less steeped in tradition. Thus, they come across as being more open minded, simply because they haven't had to contend with the same history as those more venerable countries such as ours."

In the end, they decided that Harry would look through the library for anything related to wandless magic, and Severus in turn would look outside the school for resources on both British Sign Language _and_ American Sign Language.


	8. Understanding

' _Both wandless and silent magic are achieved through intent . . . learning how to focus one's magic to achieve a particular goal . . . although not usually practiced by the underage wizards, they are not impossible skills to master, provided one has the right drive and will to make things happen . . ."_

Harry's eyes skimmed through the book, picking out various passages as they caught his eye, and taking notes whenever he found anything that looked particularly useful.

 _Like what I tried to ask McGonagall about the first day of class. I_ knew _I was onto something!_

Something flashed in his peripheral vision, and he looked up to see Teddy drop more books on the table.

"Can I sit here?" Teddy asked with a grin, indicating the seat opposite Harry.

"Sure," Harry said, flashing a half-faced smile back at his roommate after a brief pause. He wasn't used to smiling at people, but he had quickly found that it made things run smoother between he and Teddy.

 _And other people_ , he thought with a small smirk.

"Urgh," Teddy said, looking at something over Harry's shoulder.

"What?" He instantly tensed up, pulling his crutch closer to him.

"Mr. Dork himself," Teddy mouthed; his hand on his wand under the table. Unlike Harry, Teddy knew and could execute a few useful spells already. Of those, the one that Harry liked the most was a stinging hex that he desperately wanted to learn himself.

"Didn't know he could read," Harry mouthed back.

"He can't," Teddy retorted with a self-satisfied smirk. "Probably just looking for someone to cheat off of."

"Hope he isn't trying to pick up girls," Harry shuddered.

"Well, they certainly aren't going to pick him up," Teddy rolled his eyes for good measure.

"Might catch something."

"Slimy bastard."

Their banter continued on like that for a few minutes until Teddy announced that he saw Weasley heading for the door.

Harry relaxed then and looked back down at his book. After a moment he glanced back up and broached a question that had been on his mind since his conversation with Snape the day before.

"Ever hear of sign language?"

Teddy shook his head in the negative.

"It's a way of silent talking," Harry said, pausing to think before he continued. "You do it through signing symbols with your hands."

"Like how?" Teddy asked, looking genuinely intrigued.

"Well . . . here, let me show you." He put his hand into a fist and put it against his chest; the back of his hand pointed outwards towards Teddy. "This means 'my,'" Harry explained.

"So, my name," he moved his hand to his head and extended his index and middle fingers towards the side of his temple. "It's almost like a two fingered salute," he said, showing Teddy as he moved his fingers from the side of his head and then in an arc outwards, keeping them upright.

"Does it matter which hand you use?" Teddy asked, entranced by his motions.

"You're supposed to use your main, or what's called your 'primary,' but I usually use my left, just 'cause it has more fingers." He shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. "I used to be right handed, see," he added, ducking his head back towards the table.

Nothing happened between them for awhile and then Harry felt Teddy poking him in the arm.

"Yeah?" He asked, looking up and swallowing against his hesitation.

Teddy looked at him knowingly, but wisely didn't say anything else about the previous statement. Instead, he asked, "How do you say 'Harry?'"

"For 'H,' you put your hands palm to palm and then move your primary hand across from wrist to out past your fingertips. And then 'A' . . ." he continued explaining how to make the motions for the rest of the letters in his name. He enjoyed having Teddy as an avid listener. The other boy was bright and he asked intelligent questions that he rarely heard from others, regardless of their age.

"So you have to do all that when you want to say hi to someone?" Teddy scratched his head as he tried to understand the implications of all that Harry had told him.

"Actually," he admitted, "most deaf people have special signs that they use to represent who they are in sign language."

"Give me an example."

Harry thought for a moment and then began signing the letter 'H' again. "Say, this is the first letter of my name, yeah? You take something about that person and you can combine those two signs into something unique. Look at this," he turned his hands over, palms down and moved his left hand on top of his right, rubbing his fingers over the bottom edge of the backside of his hand, near the wrist. "This is the sign for 'blue,'" he explained, glancing down at his still extended crutch.

"You really like that colour, don't you," Teddy grinned.

"It's a good colour," Harry retorted, pretending to be offended. "Anyway, I could combine them by putting my hands back up like I'm about to sign an 'H;' only instead of having my hands be palm to palm, I could put both of my hands palms up." He showed Teddy what he was talking about; moving his left hand and touching his left fingers to the back of his right hand.

"Okay okay," Teddy stopped him. "So basically, you just changed the position of your left hand?"

"To the back of my right hand," Harry continued.

"But still do the motion from wrist to fingertips," Teddy rolled his eyes after a significant look from Harry, " _Or beyond_ ," Teddy corrected himself. "And that could stand for you?" Teddy paused, looking thoughtful. "That's a lot easier than having to sign out each letter every time."

"Yeah. It is."

"Can you give me a sign then?" Teddy's brown eyes back at him entreatingly and Harry grinned in response.

"Sure."

Harry explained how to make the sign for the letter 'T.' "It's pretty easy. In my case, I bring up my right hand perpendicular to the floor and then touch left index finger to the palm." He paused, looking at Teddy with a calculating gleam in his eyes. "I have an idea," he finally said after a moment of contemplative silence.

Putting his left hand in a fist, but leaving his thumb extended, he brought it up to his face and touched it to his cheek. Moving the tip of his thumb down his cheek, he explained briefly that what he was doing was the sign for 'sly.'

"I like that," Teddy grinned.

"Thought you might," Harry snickered. "Now I'm going to do it again, but with my right index finger touching my left palm, see? Like 'T' and 'sly' at the same time."

"Teddy," Harry said, signing his roommate's sign.

"Harry," Teddy responded, signing the sign that Harry had made up for himself. "Cool."

They studied on their own for a little while longer until Teddy poked him again. A sly grin, just like Harry's sign, was on his face and Harry found himself leaning in closer in anticipation to whatever Teddy wanted to say.

"What's the sign for 'W'?"

"Um, you just bring up your hands together and interlock your fingertips, palms down," Harry explained before showing what exactly he meant.

"And what's the sign for 'stupid?'" Teddy asked, his eyes alight with humour.

"Ah hah," Harry understood suddenly. "Take your fist and tap it against your head."

"So, if I were to take the sign for 'W' and bang it against my head, could that mean 'Weasley?'"

Harry snorted aloud and then cringed and looked back at Madam Pince, who was staring at them in thinly veiled disdain.

"Sorry," he mouthed back to her and then looked back at Teddy with a mock glare. After a moment he negated his glare by briefly sticking his tongue out towards the other boy.

He brought his left hand up in a fist and stuck his pinkie finger upwards with a warning look in his eyes.

Teddy grabbed his quill and hastily scribbled, 'What does that mean?'

Harry picked up his own quill and responded, 'Bad!'

'Oops,' Teddy wrote, looking sheepish.

Harry only smiled.

. . .

Harry lay in bed that night thinking about what he knew of British Sign Language and if there was anyone else he could give signs to.

 _Just to make things easier,_ he thought to himself with a pleased expression.

Of course, Snape came immediately to mind, but the sign for 'S' was interlocking pinkies, and he didn't like that, given that he was missing one of his.

Thinking hard, he tried to remember everything that the nurses had told him about sign language. He had caught on fairly quickly, but he hadn't had much of a chance to use it after he had left . . . his eyes drifted shut as he was going through his memories and before long, he was fast asleep.

The night passed fairly quickly for him, at least until his dreams began. They came and went in shifts from bad to horrible; the bad ones leaving him shaken and the horrible ones making him ill with terror.

His dream that night was somewhere in-between those two levels.

He was riding in the backseat, strapped in beside his monstrous whale of a cousin, Dudley. It had just started raining, the droplets hitting the window only to be whisked away by the car's windscreen wipers. It was dark, except for their headlights, so very very dark.

His uncle and aunt were arguing again, and he could hear Dudley chiming in every so often with an, "I want" or, "This is boring!" Of course he didn't say anything. He knew better than to; especially after living with the Dursleys for the past six years.

 _"No one wants to hear from a little spindly legged freak like you!"_ Had been a familiar phrase thrown his way throughout his childhood.

A car began to pass them on the left, its headlights bright and suddenly piercing in the darkness surrounding their little world within his uncle's company car. He was on the left side of the car, his aunt in front of him and he had seen the look in his uncle's eyes as the car had begun to pass them.

"Thinks I'm driving too slow does he!" Uncle Vernon had roared, his moustache vibrating with the force of his yell. In total disregard for the ever increasing downpour, his uncle had sped up.

"Vernon, just let it go dear," Petunia had murmured, her eyes on the road as the steady downpour suddenly began creeping towards torrential.

"I'll show him!" Had been his uncle's savage retort.

In the dream, time seemed to slow down around Harry as his uncle's temper seemed to get the better of him. He could feel the car's tires lose traction once, twice and then again; a phenomena he learned later was called "hydroplaning." He tried to speak, maybe to warn his uncle that they were sliding or to scream for help, he couldn't remember which. He tried to speak, but couldn't say anything, couldn't move as the car slid across the road, out of control to the left, always to the left.

Dudley fell onto him. Seatbelts barely fit him, even at seven, and he usually took it off shortly after they were on the road. His weight was suffocating, painfully heavy and he could hear the other boy screaming ridiculously high pitched directly into his ear. The light swirled around them and little Harry had to shut his eyes against the nauseating whirl of colour and motion.

There was a terrible CRUNCH, followed by a sickening SNAP, and he'd felt his leg collapse under his cousin's girth. The pain had blossomed in his heart and throat and then suddenly they were still and there was vomit on his lap, on the seat beside him, and blood dripping into his eyes.

Time lurched forwards and he felt Dudley's weight leave him and he screamed. His right leg wasn't just snapped, it was pulverized, and now he realised that his aunt's seat in front of him had gotten pushed back and was now resting partially on that leg too.

 _Trapped, trapped!_ His mind had screamed, was screaming and he began struggling against his bindings. The door on the other side opened and his cousin was pulled out, wailing as though he were dying, despite only a few bruises that later would turn out to be nothing. His vision swam before his eyes and he could hear himself very weakly crying out for his aunt.

"Please Aunt Petunia, I'm stuck, please!"

"Good riddance to bad rubbish! Look what you've done now!" He vaguely heard his Uncle Vernon shouting and belatedly he understood that the man was yelling _at him_.

"Please!" He tried again, banging on the window desperately, his hand streaking bloody lines onto it.

He remembered and he saw in his dream as Petunia stopped beside his window, her horse-like face marred by a swollen black eye as she gazed back in at him. He coughed and vaguely the smell of petrol came to him, and he realised that the gas tank was leaking. He could smell something burning and the thought of being cooked alive terrified him into pounding on the window and screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Come along Pet!" Vernon shouted, grabbing his aunt by the arm and roughly yanking her backwards.

"No! I'm still here! I'm still here! I can't get out!" He screamed, beating his hand black and blue, barely aware that he had two broken fingers on that hand as well. "Don't leave me, please!"

Petunia was still in his vision and he could see her mouthing something at him. He strained to understand, to see, wiping at the blood coming from the right side of his face irritably as it continued to block his sight.

"Just stay right there, just stay," she was repeating and he sobbed aloud at her words.

"Please! Don't leave me! _Please!_ I'll be so good! I'll do anything you like! Please get me out! I don't want to die!" He had sobbed.

But she was gone and the car was smoking and he was trapped as the world exploded around him.

Harry sat up in his bed sobbing, gasping for breath and wheezing as the terror ricocheted through him. He pulled his left leg up to his chin and wrapped his arms around it desperately as he tried to stifle the sounds of his sobbing into his arm.

He had _begged_ and cried and she hadn't come back for him, none of them had. His magic had reacted as Snape had said, throwing him out of the car and dumping him on his left side down in the wet earth in the dark. But his right had continued to burn and he had screamed himself into unconsciousness.

It had been three days before he had awoken and another week before he had regained any awareness of himself.

His breath still hitching, he slid carefully out of bed and felt down on the ground for his leg. Roughly shoving his pyjama pants leg up, he pushed his stump into his prosthesis and whispered for it to tighten back down. Flicking out his crutch, he also grabbed his slippers and a light blanket. On his way the door, he picked up his satchel from the foot of his bed and slipped out into the corridor, heading for the Slytherin common room.

Taking a seat on one of the sofas nearest the largest fireplace, he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and then curled up into a close approximation of a ball. His arms still free, he reached for his satchel, which he had sat on the cushion beside him, and pulled out a book and a long piece of parchment. Bypassing his quills, he grabbed a regular muggle pen and set the parchment atop the book to use it as a writing surface.

 _'Dear Moody_ ,' he wrote shakily at the top.

 _'You said I could write if I wanted, and I guess I want to now. Just woke up from another bad dream of the wreck and I can't go back to sleep now. Might as well do something sort of useful, you know?'_

 _'They were so close to me, where I was. They could have saved me, but they didn't. They let me scream and they just watched, knowing I was gonna die.'_

Harry's fists clenched as his heart fluttered dangerously in his chest; his breath uneven as he fought to get control of the anger that begged to be let out of him.

When he was sure that nothing was going to catch fire around him, he picked up his pen again and continued with his letter.

 _'It's kinda ironic really. Until I met you, I always thought that my parents had died in a car crash, and I was just sort of following in their footsteps. Hah. I guess it's more like we both got betrayed by people we thought just wouldn't do that sort of thing to us.'_

 _'I'd like to think I know better now, but I can't help but let people in despite knowing the risks involved. I might have made a friend actually. His name is Teddy and he's my roommate. He . . .'_

Harry paused, his eyes distant as he thought of how to describe the other boy.

 _'He's got his eyes open like some of the kids I knew from . . . before. He understands how to be careful, and although I hadn't thought about it much, I suppose that means that he doesn't have too great a past either, you know? I wonder if he'd tell me if I were to ask. I don't know if I should though. It's a little too personal still, I think.'_

 _'You were right when you told me to be careful of Malfoy. That boy is a serious git. He could really use a serious slap across his face, but I think I'd get in trouble. I've already . . . I've already been in two fights this week.'_

Harry's cheeks burned as he wrote about the fights. He wasn't used to the idea of someone being disappointed with him, but he suspected that Moody wouldn't be too happy after hearing about that.

 _'You told me that Weasleys were a good family to know, but that must be the older generation, because the one in my year is a mean ol' bastard. He told me he hoped someone would do me in before the end of the month was up. I'd like to drag him to a dark corner and slice one of his fingers off, but I suppose that would just get me in more trouble. Still though, the thought is awfully tempting.'_

He sniggered to himself and then turned back to the letter.

 _'I told you that I always made friends with the ones other people discount, remember? The cripples and blind and the ones that stuttered; those were the best people to know, because other people didn't expect them to be able to fight back as well as they could.'_

 _'It's not the same here, but it's similar. I've been watching the other students in my classes, and I have a few ideas of who to talk to now. This is my list so far: Millicent Bulstrode, Neville Longbottom, Morag MacDougal, Sally-Anne Perks, and Blaise Zabini. There's also this muggle girl in Gryffindor named Hermione Granger. She seems real smart, but her people skills really suck arse. I dunno. I think she's worth keeping an eye out for. She just gives me a feeling that I might need to know her, but I don't know why.'_


	9. Flying

Their defence class was a joke to everyone except Harry. He saw Quirrell as a threat, pure and simple.

Like his peers, he found the man's stutters annoying, since they kept him from understanding most of his words, but that's not why he didn't like the class. The instant he had stepped foot inside Quirrell's classroom, he had felt a chill sink into his bones. Teddy and the rest of the students seemed oblivious to the sensation, but he couldn't help but feel a little more discomfited every time he had to attend _that_ class.

It wasn't just the space inside the room itself that made him uncomfortable, but he had found that even the desks themselves had a slimy texture to their surfaces that no amount of scrubbing seemed capable of removing. More importantly though, at least in his mind and body, was the fact that the vibration of everything around him was slightly off, slightly _not right_ when he was around Quirrell, and he didn't like it— _not one bit_.

The smell of garlic was pervasive within the defence classroom; Quirrell's laughable response to the vampire in Romania that supposedly was coming to finish him off one day. In addition, the combination of scents and sensations he felt during each class left him slightly shaken and a touch ill afterwards—something Teddy noticed almost immediately.

"You should tell Snape," was his blunt suggestion.

However, unused to asking for help of any kind, Harry already felt that he had admitted far too much to Snape, and opted to keep his mouth shut at least until he had a chance to research the problem on his own.

The next day, he and Teddy left breakfast early and headed for their first flying lesson. Teddy had never owned a broom of his own, but he had "borrowed" his cousins' brooms throughout his childhood, only getting caught once.

"You get in trouble?"

"My da caught me, so yeah. Trouble," was all Teddy had said, but it had been enough of an explanation.

They were nearly to the front doors when Teddy turned his head at something behind them. Following his friend's lead, Harry turned to look too. It was Granger.

" . . . Going to the lesson?" He caught her say as she walked up to them.

"Uh huh," Harry answered noncommittally and with a nod, he and Teddy moved outside.

A moment later, Granger popped up beside him again and began prattling on about what she had learned from the library on brooms. Harry snuck Teddy a bemused glance, but otherwise didn't tell her off.

There were two rows of brooms awaiting them, and Teddy grinned at Harry when they realized they were the first to arrive.

At that moment, Granger said something that made him pay attention, and he turned to see, "It must be so interesting to be someone famous. Did you know you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century?"

Harry blinked at the overwhelming amount of information she was spewing at him.

"Got an obsession with him, then Granger?" Teddy answered in his silence.

The girl blushed and answered, "I'm just trying to learn all I can about the wizarding world. It's all so fascinating, but especially the parts about you," she said, looking at Harry with wide bright eyes.

"Me?"

"Yes you! You did the impossible, survived the impossible! It's incredible that you're still alive at all!"

At her words, something sour rose in the pit of his stomach and he scowled darkly.

"Did I say something wrong?" Granger asked nervously.

"Because being orphaned is so great, right Granger?" Teddy interceded, edging his body ever so slightly in between Hermione and Harry.

"Of-Of course not!" She stammered.

"Just drop it," Harry said finally, giving them each a sharp look.

Luckily the uncomfortable silence that descended on them didn't last too long. Other Slytherin and Gryffindor first years soon began arriving and before long, their class was under way.

"Now extend your wand hand and shout 'Up!'" Rolanda Hooch instructed them.

Harry watched his classmates as they tried to make their broomsticks jump in their hands. Some, like Longbottom's, didn't respond at all; while others, like Teddy's, did precisely what they were supposed to do.

Bracing himself with his crutch, Harry held out his left hand and thought very seriously about what he wanted to have happen. No sooner had the words left his mouth, but his broomstick immediately snapped to his hand and he sent a relieved smile at Teddy.

"That's it!" Hooch called out to those of them who had managed it, before going around to the other students who still needed help.

Waiting for the rest of his classmates to catch up, Harry noticed that the Granger girl was one of the few still having difficulties. Hers had rolled away from her command, and now she was trying to make it actually move in the correct direction.

"You don't believe it'll work," he observed, startling her from her task.

"It worked for most everyone else!" Granger retorted fiercely.

"You still have to believe it'll work for you though," he pointed out, falling silent as he thought about what to say. "Bend over and touch it, hold it in your hand for a bit. Then drop it back down and imagine that feeling before you try again."

She looked at him as though he had grown a second head, but remarkably she did choose to follow his instructions, and when it came time for her to try again, the broomstick went up just as it was supposed to.

"How did you know to do that?" She hissed at him.

He didn't have a chance to answer, because just then, Hooch turned back to the class as a whole and demonstrated the proper way to get onto the broomstick.

Beside him, Teddy snickered quietly as they watched her reprimand Malfoy on his improper technique.

"She just told him he's been doing it wrong for years," Teddy relayed since her back was to them.

"Git deserves it," Harry answered in what he hoped was a low voice.

On the other hand, Harry couldn't follow Hooch's instructions either, but that was because of his leg, not because he wasn't listening. Luckily it seemed that someone had spoken to her about his medical limitations—Harry hoped it had been Snape, with his brisk, no nonsense demeanor—because she didn't press him about it after watching him do it incorrectly.

"Now on the count of three, I want you to kick off from the ground . . ." Hooch said, turning her back on Harry and effectively silencing her speech for him.

He turned his eyes on Teddy instead and by doing so, missed Longbottom's early flight. Fearful of being left behind, the boy had kicked off too early and had risen sharply into the air. As the heads around Harry abruptly shot skywards, his did too, and he watched in silent horror as the other boy slipped from his broomstick and hurtled twenty feet to the ground.

His classmates winced in unison and Harry saw that Longbottom's wrist was twisted the wrong direction.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry saw her mutter. "Come on, boy - it's all right, up you get."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

Harry felt a strange tightness in his chest as he watched them walk off and for a brief flash he wondered what it would have been like to be in the round boy's place with a professor's arm around _his_ shoulders. He shook his head free of the conflicting imagery and then noticed something lying on the ground in front of them.

"Gah, I can't believe he's in _our_ house," Weasley said, striding forwards into the middle of the group. "He ought to have been sorted into Hufflepuff, although Merlin knows what they would have done with him _there!_ " Around him, the other Gryffindors chortled while the Slytherins just scowled back at them.

 _This is their so-called bravery and loyalty?_ Harry thought in disgust. _Yeah, it's real brave to talk about someone behind their back._ His feeling about Longbottom increased tenfold, just as Weasley began talking again.

"Look!" Weasley said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." The little glass ball glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Your family so hard up that you've taken to stealing from your housemates?" Harry shouted, tightening his hand around the wooden handle of his broomstick.

The other first years stilled around him, and Weasley's face turned the colour of his hair as he flushed with anger. The crowd parted around them with the noticeable exception of Granger and Teddy.

"You want it back so much, _Potter_ ," Weasley challenged, spitting his name out like it tasted bad. "Why don't you come get it!" He threw himself onto his broom and took to the air.

With only a sidelong glance to Teddy, Harry hastily got on his own broom and with a flick of his wrist he retracted his crutch, rising in the air as he did. Not liking the idea of his leg falling off mid-flight, he immediately put his right leg under him and pinned it up with his left, and then he shot after Weasley. The wind sounded strange in his ears and the voices of the other students quickly dropped away as he chased after his red-haired quarry.

It was obvious that Weasley knew what he was doing on a broomstick, but Harry soon discovered that he knew how to fly too. Wrapping both hands around the front of the handle, he leaned into the flight and shot quickly towards Weasley.

"You wanna be caught? Fine!" He shouted as he neared the Gryffindor.

Weasley's face tightened as he came right up on his tail, and suddenly he saw the other boy's arm moving and he took off after the shining ball, not waiting to hear his taunting cry.

It struck him in that moment that this act of his, this crazy _behaviour_ as good as shouted to the world that he had put Longbottom under his protection. And why shouldn't he? The other boy was alone as he always had been. The fear that shone out of Longbottom's eyes was easy to spot, and although Harry didn't like it, he couldn't help but see a piece of himself staring back at him within the other boy's face.

Not liking where that thought was leading him, he pushed the entire thing out of his head and focused his entire attention on the glittering prize arcing down to the ground in front of him. He felt the wind rush past his ears as he flew in a sharp dive downwards. The lake was shining in front of him and he silently pushed the broomstick harder as it came closer in his vision.

Reaching out with his left hand, the knuckles on his right hand turning white from the grip he was holding on with, he snagged the little glass ball just bare inches from the water. Underneath the surface, something dark moved and without thinking, he flipped himself backwards and up into the air again, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as he went.

It wasn't until he was nearly all the way back that he saw a dark smudge on the ground next to the rest of his classmates.

He angled downwards towards his head of house, the angry expression on Snape's face evident even from the air. Shoving the glass ball into an inner pocket of his robes, he landed neatly on the ground and carefully stepped off of the broom. Flicking his wrist once for his crutch, he limped over to where the man was standing next to the frightened looking Weasley boy.

Snape was livid. Not trusting himself to speak, he crooked a finger in Harry's direction and silently ordered him to follow in his wake. Harry obediently fell into step behind him and a moment later Weasley wisely did the same.

"For the rest of you," he growled, looking out at the rest of the students still staring worriedly back up at him, "I suggest you put those brooms back on the ground and _leave_ before someone else makes you. Do you understand?"

They hastily nodded their heads back at him and he scowled frighteningly back.

"Come!" He barked to his two detainees following behind him. Belatedly he remembered that Harry couldn't hear him, but he decided it didn't matter. The instruction hadn't changed.

As he swept through the hallways, he took some delight in the way the other students scattered and jumped to get out of his way; some even brave enough to gaze pityingly back at the two boys following behind him.

He led them straight down to the dungeons and into his office, slamming the door behind the two idiots with a silent flick of his magic. Weasley jumped at the sudden loud noise, but Harry merely glanced at the door and then back up at Snape with a cool gaze.

"Sit!" He barked, taking care to face towards Harry this time.

Again, Weasley jumped and then scurried to a seat. Harry merely gazed back with a surly expression, before leisurely finding a seat.

Snape leaned backwards onto his desk and crossed his arms. It would do little good to hex either of the idiots in front of him, although Merlin knew he dearly wanted to.

"Can one of you explain why you think yourselves to be _above_ the rules?" He said with a hiss, leaning down just enough to turn his stance into a looming pose.

Wisely, his question was met with silence.

"Explain to me, Mr. _Weasley_ , precisely why you have decided to antagonize Mr. Potter this term."

More silence.

"That was _not_ a suggestion. Speak!"

Weasley shot a nasty look at Harry, then looked at him, and lowered the level of hatred in his gaze just slightly as he did.

"He's a liar. _Sir."_

Severus' lip curled in distaste at the red haired boy's answer.

"And what has he lied about?"

He noticed Harry looking at Weasley in closely guarded confusion, and his observations of the situation shifted slightly.

"He acted like he was a good person on the train!" Weasley yelled out, turning and pointing accusingly at Harry. "But he wasn't! You were just playing, weren't you! You're just a nasty slimy git! You little bloody, fre—," but Severus silenced him by grabbing the front of his robes and lifting him easily to his own eye level.

"Do. Not. Finish. That. Epithet. Mr. Weasley. You do not insult one of my snakes in front of me. Do you understand me?" He growled and a wide eyed Weasley nodded his head in silence. "Good," he hissed, dropping the boy to the floor.

"You can't grab me like that," Weasley muttered up at him. "You can't. I'll tell McGonagall!"

"Would you like me to floo her for you? I can tell her how you threatened to break the _neck_ of one of my snakes," he growled, stepping away from the moron before really giving into the urge to harm him.

"I d-didn't!" Weasley cried out.

Harry looked surprised and Severus gave him an almost unnoticeable nod. _Yes my little snake. I did hear what he said to you. I protect my own and if this is the way I must prove it to you, then so be it!_

"Now who is the liar!"

Weasley spluttered and he rounded in on him again.

"This is a magical castle, boy! Haven't you ever considered the idea that the walls are listening! That the portraits in the dungeons are loyal to _me?_ "

Weasley was slowly backing himself into the corner, his face white as Severus stalked ever nearer.

"I'm sure your parents would be delighted to learn that their _precious_ son threatened Harry Potter with breaking his neck," Severus added, smiling coldly as the boy in front of him continued to mutely shake his head.

"Death threats from a Gryffindor," Severus tutted; his eyes glittering coldly down at the hapless boy in front of him. "You make me sick, Weasley."

"Are you going to expel me sir?" Weasley's hoarse whisper broke the silence surrounding them.

"Expel you?" Severus pretended to think it over. "Unfortunately I do not have that ability at present, but should you ever _attempt_ such a foolhardy action," his voice grew deathly silent. "Mark my words Mr. Weasley, expulsion shall be the least of your worries."

He sent the boy away with a month full of detentions under Filch.

"Oh and Mr. Weasley," he called out as the red haired boy hastily left his office. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for lying to a professor." If anything, Weasley's face merely got whiter and then the troublesome boy was gone.

Turning back to Harry, he took a seat in one of the chairs nearest him and said, "I do hope that you had a purpose in mind before performing your idiotic stunt today."

Harry slowly nodded at him, his eyes contemplative as he gazed back in silence.

"Then I will see you in my classroom at seven tonight for your _detention."_ He said calmly, waiting to see if the boy would give him any kind of open response.

"Good," Harry stated at last. "I have some new ideas about how to make this non-verbal thing work."

Harry got up and was about to turn to leave when Severus spoke again.

"You flew better than your father ever did," Severus admitted softly, his old feelings of hatred warring strongly within his chest with the protective urges he was beginning to feel towards Harry.

Another pause, and then, "Thank you for telling me sir."

And then the boy was gone and Severus was alone in his office once more.


	10. Magic Making

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Possible tissue warning on this one. You may not feel the same way, but I made myself bawl at the end.

By the time Harry came for his "detention" that evening, Severus was more than a little anxious to see what ideas he had come up with for signing the spells.

Clearly, the boy was excited as well, for he began speaking almost as soon as he entered Severus' classroom. Throwing his stuff down on a bench, Harry walked directly up to where Severus was sitting at his desk and looked at him expectantly.

"What ideas have you had?" Severus prompted, and then he merely sat back and listened.

"I think it's best to stick with the most basic signs for basic ideas," Harry began, looking for any kind of dissent from Severus. Receiving none, he ploughed on. "I checked both ASL (American Sign Language) and BSL (British Sign Language) and saw that the sign for a light turning on or just the reference to the sun is almost the exact same thing in both languages," he said animatedly.

In demonstration, Harry brought his left hand up in front of him and brought his fingers and thumb together, his digits extended towards Severus.

"This is off," Harry said. He opened his hand suddenly, imitating the suddenness of a light as it came on. "This is on. It's simple, you know?" Harry pulled out his wand and then looked at Severus seriously.

"The information I've found in the library on non-verbal magic has been very specific in explaining that one's _intent_ must be focused firmly on _what_ you want to happen. It's not the _how_ that matters so much, but the _belief_ that what you're going to do is make something _happen_."

Unbeknownst to him, Severus' lip curled up with just a touch of a smile as he listened to Harry put words to what he had learned. It was enthralling to behold, especially from someone so young.

"I haven't tried this yet, because I don't really know what's going to happen. Technically, although this is _silent_ magic, it's not really the same thing as regular non-verbal magic, because the signs themselves are still language."

Nodding in understanding, Severus stood up and held out his wand, ready for anything or nothing to occur.

"Please proceed," he instructed softly, fascination for what they were undertaking lighting his eyes.

A look of extreme determination came across Harry's face. He held his wand in his right hand and then put his left hand at the base of his right wrist. It was closed in the off position he had shown Severus only moments before.

A strange feeling in the air made Severus shiver as he watched the boy attempt his first controlled magic.

Moving his right hand along his wand hand and then along the length of the wand itself, Harry pushed his right hand forwards suddenly, splaying his fingers wide open by the time he reached the tip. Just as suddenly, a light flared in the tip of his wand, lighting the area around him like a strong torch.

"Hah!" Harry yelled out, jumping in the air with an amazed grin on his face.

When the light had appeared, goosebumps had appeared over the majority of Severus' flesh before disappearing and leaving him with a tingle in the edges of his nerves.

"Well done Harry," he said, nodding to the boy with a pleased expression. "Well done."

"Did you see, sir! It worked!" Harry said gleefully.

In that moment, his snake was every bit of the eleven year old boy that he should have been. It both warmed Severus' heart and made his throat constrict painfully.

Harry's joy dampened a bit as he looked thoughtfully at his still lit wand.

"It seems to me sir, that to make it go dark or _nox_ , all I have to do is take it back the other way. Like this," Harry said, almost moving his hand back along the wand towards his chest, closing it as he went.

Just like that, the light was gone, but the grin on Harry's face was no less brilliant.

After a moment of smiling stupidly at his wand, Harry dropped his head and hastily ran a hand under his glasses. Severus took a step forwards, but stopped as the child began speaking again.

"You were right sir. I _am_ a wizard," Harry said, looking up at Severus in bewilderment.

"You are," Severus confirmed with a pleased nod. He stepped up to the boy's side and crouched down in front of him.

"You belong _here_ as much as anyone else does, Harry. Perhaps even more, considering what you have managed just tonight."

Silently, Harry nodded back at him, his face uncertain but his eyes finally dry.

"Now," Severus said, standing back up, "Try it again."

He made Harry repeat his movements until the spell was flawless and then he made him switch hands.

"Sir?"

"I've watched you in and outside of class, Harry. Everything you do, aside from your crutch, has been worked using your left hand. Why then, have you been holding your wand with your right hand this evening?"

A strange flush came over the boy's cheeks and he ducked his head briefly before speaking. "I didn't . . ." Harry trailed off and then looked back up at Severus. "I don't like people looking at my right hand, sir," he finished. "They stare."

"They will stare regardless, child. Will you live the rest of your life worrying about how others view you?"

Harry bit his lip and stared back at Severus with a thoughtful expression. "Did you, um, did you get stared at a lot when you were younger, sir?" His green eyes easily piercing through Severus' adult facade.

"Younger, older," Severus shook his head as he tried to quell the pang of remembered misery that was raised with the boy's perceptive question. "It didn't matter. If not the reviled professor, then I was the worthless classmate."

 _And terrible friend_ , he thought, but did not say.

Harry's right hand clenched around his crutch. "I know what it's like to be worthless, sir," Harry said, nodding up at him.

"But we are not any longer, Harry. We are Slytherins. That makes us family, for better or worse. Now, enough dilly dallying. Show me that spell with your hands reversed."

Tentatively, Harry switched his wand to his left hand and performed the 'light on' motion with his right hand; his three exposed fingers trembling ever so slightly as he moved them up the expanse of his wand.

 _This time_ , when the light flared, it did so with nearly twice the brightness and Severus felt his shoulders relax as his silent theory was proven correct.

Harry's eyes goggled wide at the much improved light, and Severus allowed a small smile to briefly grace his lips.

"Your wand hand is the hand that is used the most; that you have the most control over. It would make sense that you would therefore have more control over your magic as well." Once more, he had Harry perform the movements until they were flawless, and only then did he allow them to move on.

"Now, you said you had ideas plural?"

A half-smile of his own came across Harry's face and his back straightened with excitement as he set himself to explain something else.

"Yes sir," the boy responded crisply. "I thought some more about Wingardium Leviosa. It's really been gnawing at me that I couldn't make the spell work verbally, you know?" Harry's eyes flicked at him and Severus nodded.

"Well, I looked up the spell itself and the history too," Harry continued, while inwardly Severus marvelled at the amount of work the first year had already put into his studies.

"The spell means to take flight, to take wing and _fly_ , sir. I thought of this during our flying lesson with Madame Hooch this afternoon. She told us that we could just say ' _up_ ' to get our brooms into our hands, you know sir?"

Severus gave another nod, intrigued at the direction the boy was working in.

"Well, 'up' is a lot like 'lift.' They cause the same effect, but up is a direction while lift is the action itself," Harry's eyes were distant as he thought about how to explain his idea to his professor.

"The direction 'up' is easy to sign," Harry explained, taking his left hand and pointing upwards with his index finger extended and the rest of his fingers closed. "Basically, you just point up. I figure that brooms—magical ones, sir—already have a levitation spell of some kind already working within their skins, within their wooden bodies. So then, up is just like a release mechanism, you know? It _allows_ a broom to move into your hand or towards your hand, at least. I wonder how high a broom would go if you didn't hold out your hand?" Harry paused and looked at him.

"I haven't a clue, Harry, but perhaps we'll try that sometime. _Together_ ," Severus emphasized with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes sir," Harry answered with a buoyant grin. "Well, the BSL for 'lift' is pretty easy too. You just take both hands and mimic picking up something. Like this, sir," he explained; putting his hands palms up and lifting them towards the ceiling.

"Just for clarity's sake, the sign for flying is crossing your hands, well rather your wrists and then flapping your fingers together and moving your arms back and forth like a bird. I figure that I can't really do that with a wand—well, maybe I could—but I think it's too much trouble for what I'm trying to do. Maybe though," Harry's speech quickened as he theorized. "Maybe if I ever made brooms or put enchantments on things, I'd have to use that more specific spell to clarify what exactly I wanted it to do." He stopped and grinned a real smile at him and Severus couldn't help but smile back.

It was hard to see this Harry and think of how much had been taken from him.

 _Which was the real boy? The serious, morose child? Or the innovative excited one?_

 _Or perhaps they are one and the same?_

"And then, I looked up the sign for fly; just to be doing the actual _thing_ like Wingardium Leviosa seems to be doing—at least with the first half of the instruction. And that's done the same way that you say 'I love you' in ASL, oddly enough. You put out your thumb, index finger and pinkie and move your hand out into the air as though you were playing with a plane or bird or something. Does that make sense, sir?"

"It does. Now how will you manage to incorporate all of this together?"

"I was thinking, I was thinking sir," Harry bit his lip and flexed his fingers a few times as he began pacing back and forth in front of him. "I was thinking that since the direction 'up' is what I want, but I also want it to lift, to _fly_ , then I could hold my wand—it'd have to be in my right hand no matter what, sir. Because I don't have, I mean, my pinkie, I—."

Severus cut him off before he could get anymore flustered. "I understand, Harry. Show me what you mean to do," he patiently suggested.

Harry shot him a nervous smile, somewhat less radiant than before. "Do you have a feather, sir?"

Severus chose not to explain that the spell did not have to be worked on a feather. Instead, he transfigured one for Harry out of a broken quill that he found in his desk. He turned and found Harry staring back at him with that same excited gleam in his eye.

"I have ideas about transfiguration too, sir," the boy admitted, somewhat shyly.

"Perhaps you should discuss them with Professor McGonagall. I'm sure she would be interested in hearing them," Severus suggested, frowning at the sudden sombre expression that had developed on Harry's face at his idea.

"Sh-Sh-She" Harry stuttered and then shook his head, pressing his lips together almost angrily. "She doesn't want to hear from me, sir."

Severus' eyes opened slightly in surprise. "Your parents were some of her favourite students, Harry. I can't imagine that she wouldn't feel the same way."

A bitter moue came across the lad's face as Severus silently swore to have a talk with Minerva.

"Well she doesn't. Sir. Maybe she has something against freaks," Harry's body was nearly trembling with tension and Severus felt it safer to continue on with their previous conversation instead of pressing this explosive topic any further.

"I doubt she thinks of you as a freak, Harry. You are not anything of the sort," he said, not blinking as he stared back into his student's angry green eyes.

"Yes, sir," were the only words the boy said.

"Now show me your sign for Wingardium Leviosa. It is nearly curfew. I will walk you back to your dorm room after this myself."

"Yes sir," Harry answered again, but this time his posture had relaxed slightly and his knuckles were no longer white with barely suppressed emotion.

Not speaking, Harry grasped his wand with his right hand and then formed his left hand into the sign for fly. He swished his wand as Severus had instructed him to do, and then with a look of concentration, he flicked his wand towards the feather, pushing his left hand off his wand and straight up into the air.

The white of the feather flashed before them as it skyrocketed to the ceiling. Instantly, Harry's entire demeanour relaxed and he let out a bark of laughter. Slowly he dropped his hand back down to the top of his wand and in turn, the feather dropped with it and then settled back down on the tabletop in front of them.

Severus began to say something, but Harry interrupted him as he collapsed onto the hard student bench behind him. Propping his head in his hands, Severus watched as Harry's shoulders began shaking and then he began rocking back and forth; his sobs just barely audible in the quiet classroom.

Severus tried to give him a moment to contain himself, but the boy seemed incapable of calming, and instead his cries only grew louder and his motions more agitated the longer he wept.

Breathing in deeply, he moved across the space separating him from his snake and slowly sat down on the bench beside Harry. Hesitantly, he reached out a potion stained hand and rested it on the boy's shoulder.

"Good for nothing freak," Harry gasped out, leaning ever so slightly into Severus' hand. "Never good for anything; never be worth anything," Harry swallowed hard and looked up at him. "Not worth feeding." The tears were down to a trickle as he continued. "Not worth loving," his face crumpled as he valiantly fought against losing his control again. "Not worth saving," he finally added, shaking his head back and forth as another tear dripped out of his vibrant green eyes.

 _Lily's eyes_.

"Not worth keeping," Harry spat, biting his lip hard enough to create visible dents. "And Dumble—," he choked off, unable to speak the man's name. "He left me, sir. He," Harry's tears were coming back again, but the boy seemed determined to get his words out. "He says he _loves_ me," Harry trembled violently beside the wizard, and a hot breeze smelling of petrol and blood brushed past the side of Severus' face.

"Says he _loves_ me, bloody bastard sent me _back_. He sent me back to them!"

Harry's fury expelled as the entire blackboard erupted in bright blue flames. Severus only glanced at it, feeling that it was better to keep his eyes on the boy in front of him. Harry needed to calm down before they all burned.

"Did he know?" Severus didn't have to clarify what.

"I told him. And he," Harry looked away, and seemed to notice the burning board for the first time. In the flash, the flames were gone and the blackboard was fine. The smell that had been present seconds before was gone and Severus felt a strange chill go through his centre at the possible implications of such a power.

"He. Looked. Into my eyes, sir. And he _saw,"_ Harry trembled again but managed to keep himself under control. Taking a deep shuddering breath, he continued. "He saw, I know what he saw and he sent me back, sir."

Abruptly, Harry's face became very calm and his eyes went dead, although they still shone somewhat with leftover tears. Shaking his head, he continued, "And everyone can think he's great and wonderful and bloody god-like. But he's only like one god I know of, and they say it's hot there," a bitter grimace overtook Harry's lips briefly and then that too faded as he suddenly slumped towards Severus, the fight completely gone from his limbs.

Gently, Severus guided Harry's head up towards his face and upon seeing the boy's eyes were still open, he began speaking. "I won't let them hurt you ever again. Dumbledore can say what he wants, but you're _my_ responsibility now and I take care of my own."

His brow knotted as he touched the back of his fingers to Harry's still wet cheek.

"I'm very proud of what you've managed tonight, little Snake. You can go to sleep now. I won't let him touch you."

At his words, Harry's eyes slid shut finally, and before long Severus could hear the deep slow breaths of sleep coming from the child. Picking him up carefully, he carried him back to his quarters and transfigured his couch into a bed.

He had a lot to think about.


	11. Hallowe'en

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – This is a monstrous chapter, no pun intended. It's twice the size of most of my other chapters, so I hope you appreciate and enjoy it. There's a lot of plot development here too.

"Filius, might I have a word with you?" Severus asked via his floo early the next morning.

"Now, Severus?" Filius questioned, looking at the clock.

"It's rather important," was all Severus said.

Filius nodded in understanding. If Severus Snape thought something was important, then by golly, it was.

"I'll be right through."

"Thank you," Severus answered softly, before stepping out of the way for the little man to come through. Automatically, his eyes wandered over to Harry Potter. The boy was seated on his sofa, still dressed in his transfigured pyjamas; his eyes wide with worry over that morning's imminent discussion.

Filius appeared a moment later; a dressing gown hastily thrown over his own pyjamas and fuzzy slippers adorning his feet.

"Oh, Mr. Potter! My, it does seem to be a morning for meetings, does it not?" Filius exclaimed by way of greeting.

"Yes sir," the boy answered simply, his eyes watching each of his professors carefully.

"As Mr. Potter's head of house," Severus began, looking at Filius, "I feel that you should be brought into our confidence regarding some of the more . . ." Severus trailed off. " _Problematic_ aspects of his academic career here."

"Such as?" Flitwick asked; his eyes glinting sharply as he glanced back and forth between them both.

Severus looked at Harry. It had taken a lot to get the boy to agree to this meeting. Continued secrecy was a must in order to keep Harry safe.

"Before we go any further, I must ask for your word as a wizard that you will not discuss this topic with anyone else, including the headmaster," Severus said.

Filius' eyes widened slightly in surprise, but after a moment he nodded and said, "If you think it is necessary, Severus. I'll trust your judgment. I swear that I will not speak of this to anyone outside those in this room." A thrum of magic hummed through the room and then the binding promise was sealed.

"Thank you," Severus said, inclining his head slightly. "Please have a seat; we have much to discuss."

Severus gave a short rundown of Harry's injuries, and explained the kind of hearing loss that Harry had sustained as a result of the accident.

"So that's why you've been having difficulty in Charms," Filius tutted, leaning back against the sofa cushion and kicking his legs idly as he thought through the implications of Harry's situation.

"Indeed," Severus said, answering for Harry.

"And what solutions have you come up with to work around this difficulty?"

At their surprised faces, Flitwick chuckled and said, "Surely that's why I'm here, is it not? Go on, Mr. Potter," he said, directing his question to the wide eyed boy beside him. "Tell me what you have developed in lieu of being able to speak the spells themselves."

With a brief questioning glance at Severus, Harry opened his mouth and began to explain to his diminutive professor about his ideas for signing the spells.

"And do your ideas work?" Flitwick asked, feeling his excitement growing in leaps and bounds the more the boy talked.

"Yes sir," Harry answered brightly, a shy smile completely unlike anything he usually expressed himself with upon his face.

Flitwick found himself quite liking this version of the boy.

 _It's a shame that the creation of his other persona was needed._

"Your mother was quite talented at charms, Mr. Potter," Flitwick admitted, smiling gently back at Harry.

"She was?"

Flitwick nodded. "A lovely girl your mother was. I think that, for her, charms simply came as naturally as breathing for you or me," he said, looking up with a wry grin to Severus. "Or potion making for Professor Snape," he added.

Severus cleared his throat with some discomfit at Flitwick's sudden attention, but he did not argue the claim.

"Now show me what you have developed," Flitwick suggested, moving them past the awkward moment with a skill borne of long time practice.

Wasting no time, Harry brought out his wand and with a swish and a flick, suddenly the pile of books on the coffee table in front of him was hovering above the ground.

With another motion, the pile was back where it had started, and just as suddenly, Flitwick could feel his mind whirring at the ideas such an unusual magic presented him with.

But first—"I say Mr. Potter! Quite well done." Another shy smile from the child, and he found himself marvelling at the amount of difference some positive reinforcement caused in Harry's demeanour. The boy was quite like a plant, bending and extending himself towards the sun.

 _Opening and growing_ , he mused to himself.

"I say," Flitwick murmured, suddenly pensive in expression. "Can you speak the spell _while_ you perform the . . .?"

"Signs, Filius," Severus provided.

"Signs! Yes. Is it possible for you to do both at the same time?"

Harry felt a bit overwhelmed at the abrupt attention from his two professors. "I think so, sir," he answered after a minute of thought.

"Try," Flitwick suggested, an idea still forming in his mind.

Working it quickly out in his mind, Harry raised his wand, but before he had a chance to try, Severus put out a hand and stopped him.

"Try it first without your wand, Harry," he suggested. "Just in case something should not work."

Harry nodded and put his wand down. Then, putting his left hand into the sign for flying, he raised his right fist and swished and flicked his imaginary wand while intoning, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

To their great surprise, the books on the table jumped a bit and Harry saw Flitwick and Snape both turn and look appraisingly at him.

Flitwick was the first to speak. "Controlled wandless magic at your age, Mr. Potter," he said, raising an appreciative eyebrow. "Very good. I think that perhaps you and Severus should consider working on that more in-depth, perhaps when you have more time?"

Severus nodded his head thoughtfully.

"Now, try the spell with your wand," he prompted.

It took Harry three tries to get it perfectly, and at the end of those attempts, he turned back to his diminutive professor and asked, "What are you planning?" A speculative glint in his eye as he turned far too old eyes on Flitwick.

The small professor smiled and spread his hands out in the air before him. "I do my exams and tests in private sometimes. This way, no one will be the wiser should they overhear us."

In the end, they all agreed that it was a good plan, and if anyone should ask about it—particularly another student—they would feign ignorance and pretend that there was nothing abnormal about Harry's strange spell casting.

. . .

"Minerva," Severus asked from his office floo later that morning. "Might I have a word?"

He had sent the boy onto breakfast after their meeting with Flitwick. Although Harry was not one to openly admit his feelings about very much, he could tell that his snake was comforted by the idea of having another ally on his side.

"Can this not wait?" Was her irritable reply.

"You don't have any more classes until after lunch," he chided. At her haughty, unyielding expression, he allowed himself a small silent sigh and then answered, "No. This cannot wait."

"Then step back," she snipped at him and he did as instructed; feeling no more than a student under her critical eye. Typically they had a better working relationship than this, but he knew how she be could when facing a situation she would have preferred to ignore.

He waited until she was seated inside his office; her eyes boring up at him as though she thought she could still scare him into submitting to her will.

 _Her will_ not _to have this conversation,_ Severus thought with a touch of uneasiness.

"You have me here. What do you want?" She threw bluntly at him, her constantly moving fingers the only sign of the discomfort she felt from the impending conversation.

"Harry Potter," Severus answered. He knew that straightforwardness was the best method for dealing with the Gryffindor head.

 _At least it is when I feel the need to get something done._

"A member of your house, I do believe. _Not_ my concern," she bit back harshly.

 _That_ was an unexpected answer.

"You feel that he should have been in Gryffindor," Severus observed, seating himself in the chair beside her and gazing back speculatively.

"There has never been a sorting that long."

"And what?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Therefore it was a mistake?"

"Something _happened_ , Severus."

"Many things happened, Minerva. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"To the _boy_. Something has happened to the child. He is not . . ." she broke off, breaking her gaze with him for the first time since entering his office.

"He was not as anyone expected," Severus answered, keeping his face free of any telling emotions.

"Albus took him to his relatives. They were to raise him in order to keep him out of the public eye."

Severus wondered if he should share with her the information that Moody had shared with him.

"He was _fine_ before. . ." she trailed off and shook her head. "Before the attack. He was fine. Something happened to him afterwards."

"A car accident," Severus supplied.

" _Mentally_ ," Minerva clarified. "He is not . . ." she trailed off once more and Severus scowled.

"He is not _what_ , Minerva?"

A pause and then the older woman hissed back, "He is not his father's son. He is nothing like either of them."

"He already shows great promise in charms, according to Filius. Just like Lily," Severus argued, his voice hushed as he mentioned her name. "And transfiguration, if I am not mistaken."

"He stares incessantly at me during class," Minerva shot back, ignoring his remark.

"He is an attentive child," Severus retorted.

"He is planning something. I can see it in his eyes," she responded with a touch of distaste.

"As we all do," Severus answered, narrowing his eyes as he tried to understand this side of his colleague.

"Not like this Severus. There is something wrong with the boy."

"Wrong?" Was his mildly spoken answer.

"He didn't work on transfiguring his matchstick to a needle. He just _stared_ at it."

An unpleasant realisation was beginning to dawn in Severus' mind and he dearly hoped that he was wrong about what she thought.

"And what of the end of the class? He succeeded, did he not?"

Minerva's face became incredulous. "You believe that story?"

"Should I not?"

"It's clear that he _cheated_ , Severus. No child is _that_ talented."

Severus could do little more than blink as she spoke the accusation aloud. "Lily was very talented," he finally managed.

Minerva looked away. "Not like this," she murmured. "Severus," she finally said, turning back to stare into his face sharply. "There are those who believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not truly vanquished that night."

He nodded. He knew the theories.

Another long and uncomfortable pause, and then Minerva asked, "What if Harry absorbed part of his spirit when he died?"

"That's your explanation for his supposed _odd behaviour?_ " Severus hissed back, feeling rather affronted at her harsh conjecture. Silently, he made himself unclench his fists.

"It would account for the strangeness of his demeanour," she said coolly.

"There are other things that explain his behaviour as well."

 _Not that I can speak to you about any of them._

Especially not after hearing that the woman thought his little snake was a _cheater_.

"And what of you?" Was her sharp reply.

"What of me?"

"You _despised_ James Potter."

"I have chosen not to place the sins of the father on his son," was his delicately spoken answer.

"Because he is in your house," was Minerva's waspish reply. "There has not been a Potter in Slytherin in over three _centuries,_ Severus," she said, leaning forwards slightly.

"The boy was not _raised_ by the Potters, Minerva. He is an _orphan,_ " he spat back.

"As was You-Know-Who," she answered with a cold smile.

Severus' posture stiffened. "As is Melody Orgel. She is one of my students as well; does that automatically make her the next dark lord?"

"Don't play the fool, Severus. She had nothing to do with the end of the reign of You-Know-Who."

"And it was never conclusively proven that Harry did either."

"He is the Boy-Who-Lived, Severus!"

"I never said that he was not, Minerva," Severus answered crisply, feeling his patience quickly beginning to wane.

Clearly Minerva felt similar, for in the next instance, she was on her feet towering over him.

"I have better things to do than debate with you, Severus," she said snidely.

Showing no reaction to her looming stance over him, Severus simply leaned his head back and spoke. "Has it not occurred to you that treating him like a potential dark lord is the same as laying the groundwork for him to become such?"

Something cold flashed in her eyes.

"It is worrying how blind you are to the darkness within the boy, Severus," she responded harshly.

He stood at last, levelling his ebon gaze straight at her.

"It is equally disconcerting how you are purposely ignoring the good inside him, Minerva," he answered.

For a moment they merely stared at one another, and then with a flash of tartan, Minerva strode over to his floo and barked her destination. Moments later she was gone and Severus slowly felt himself sinking back down into his just vacated seat.

 _Damn it,_ was his heartfelt thought.

. . .

It wasn't until the next day that Harry was able to catch a moment alone with Neville Longbottom.

He and Teddy had been waiting in the corridor outside of the Potions classroom when the Gryffindor boy arrived. He looked somewhat nervous to be alone with two Slytherins, but truthfully, he had looked that way ever since their first flying lesson.

Harry suspected that Weasley had turned most of his destructive bullying attention over to Longbottom after being told off by Snape.

 _Yet another reason that I need to make a move._

With a very slight nod to Teddy, Harry ambled across the hall to where Neville was standing.

"Longbottom," he nodded in greeting, trying to appear nonthreatening as he leaned on his crutch more than was strictly necessary.

"Oh um, hullo," the round faced boy answered just barely above a whisper.

Slowly reaching into the inner pocket of his robes, Harry grasped the rescued Remembrall and then carefully held it out to the other boy.

Neville's eyes went wide as though he had given up on ever seeing the trinket again.

"Weasley tried to steal it after you fell," Harry explained calmly, still holding it out in front of his body. A pause and then, "Don't you want it back?"

"You," Neville licked his lips nervously, "You—How did you get it from Ron?"

"I asked," Harry answered, baring his teeth for a brief enlightening moment.

The other boy didn't seem to know whether to laugh or cringe at Harry's simple explanation. In the end, he settled for giving a slight cough, covering his mouth delicately with his hand.

"Why?" Was Neville's next bewildered question.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He truly hadn't expected Longbottom to be this analytical towards his actions.

 _More proof that I've picked the right person._

It was his turn to stare back silently.

"Because it wasn't his to take," he said finally, having dropped his hand back down to his side; the remembrall still held tightly in his fist.

"So you would have done that for anyone?" Was Neville's incredulous answer.

Harry pursed his lips in distaste and instantly Neville cringed backwards. A wave of guilt fluttered in his stomach, and he tried to relax his face.

"No," he admitted truthfully. "I wouldn't."

Neville's stance was one of caution now, and Harry tried not to allow his annoyance at himself to show on his face.

"Then why me?" Neville asked, his voice having dropped back to a whisper.

"Because," Harry floundered for a moment, not sure exactly how to put his _beliefs_ into _words_. "Because you're _not_ like everyone else. You're different, and I'm different. And Teddy over there is different," he said, giving a nod to his patiently waiting friend.

He bit his lip pensively for a second and then launched back into his explanation. "And they don't understand us because of it."

"They?" Neville asked, eyes wide within his soft face.

Harry shrugged. "Everyone else. They think we don't notice when they look at us differently, when they treat us differently, but we do. I do. Teddy does. And, and I think you do too."

Neville didn't say anything. He seemed to be more intent on staring at Harry as though he had never seen anything quite like him.

In order to cover up the discomfort Harry felt from such intense scrutiny, he held up the remembrall and pushed it into Neville's loose hand.

"I asked Professor Snape to cast an unbreakable charm on it. So you don't have to worry about it cracking or breaking should anyone try and grab it again." Again, he shrugged and then without another word, he limped back over to where Teddy was waiting for him.

He stared at the floor thinking until Teddy lightly nudged him.

"-tter," Neville was saying as he looked up.

"Call me Harry," he said with an easy grin.

"Harry," Neville said, swallowing hard. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he answered, feeling relaxed.

"You're right you know," was Neville's softly spoken addition.

"Yeah?"

"They think I don't notice when they laugh at me," a flicker of emotion passed through Neville's face before fading into nothingness.

"Yeah well, they're wrong," Teddy interjected suddenly, speaking Harry's thoughts out loud.

Neville nodded. "Sometimes it hurts," he added in a very quiet voice.

"So we stick together," Harry suggested, a determined sensation in his heart. Beside him, he was pleased to see Teddy nod his agreement.

A moment later, Neville nodded too and Harry gave them each a real smile.

. . .

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with practicing signed magic three evenings a week with Professor Snape in addition to all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had.

 _Or anywhere else,_ was his constant additional thought as he walked to class with Teddy and occasionally Neville, when the opportunity presented itself.

They had added the Gryffindor boy to their study sessions together, and as a result, Neville was no longer exploding cauldrons with such regularity as before. Harry had a feeling that it was only for that reason alone that Snape was putting up with their liaison with Neville. Merlin knew that their professor certainly didn't feel warmly towards Gryffindor, but it was also obvious that his opinion of Longbottom had at least risen to grudging acceptance.

 _Which is a lot,_ Harry thought with a smirk.

"If it works for you," the round faced boy had said with a shrug, and then the topic had been dropped and not bothered with again.

It was also because of Neville that Harry and Teddy had perfected signed hexes. The idea, when Harry had presented it to Teddy during an interminable brewing session with the dunderheaded Gryffindor first years, was fairly simple. Since signing was often just a representation of the word they wanted to get across, then it made sense that something like, say a pinching hex, could be accomplished by just "pointing and shooting," as Harry had written in the side margin of their notes.

"Like the wand is the direction and your hands are the firepower," Harry had explained later when they had a chance to talk it out.

And really, that description was rather apt for all of his signed spells.

Harry had demonstrated more fully in Potions later that week, after Weasley had started needling Neville again for his miraculous improvement in their class.

Professor Snape of course had silenced the idiot redhead with a glare, but that hadn't stopped Weasley from continuing to whisper snide things under his breath. Harry and Teddy had watched in angry silence as Neville's face had gotten redder and redder with each passing moment, until they could wait no more.

With a slight shake of his head to Professor Snape—who had been just about to hex Weasley himself—Harry had ever so carefully brought out his wand and aimed it directly at the red haired boy. Then, thinking of what he wanted to happen, he brought his fingers together and sharply pinched the wood between his index finger and thumb.

Weasley had jumped up and howled, and Harry had deftly shoved his wand back up his sleeve into the wand holder that Snape had wisely given all of his first years.

"Mr. _Weasley!_ " Snape had yelled out, striding over the idiotic boy in a dark flash of billowing robes. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for disturbing my class!"

"Something bit me!" The moron had yelled back.

And instantly a silence had descended upon their class as everyone waited with bated breath to see how their professor would react to something so foolish.

"Then perhaps you should be more careful about keeping your robes changed," Snape had hissed in a dangerous tone back to the fool, his eyes travelling in disdain across Weasley's food splattered front.

"I do!" Weasley had argued, his cheeks blazing nearly as red as his hair.

"Do not presume to speak back to me, Mr. Weasley!" Snape warned coldly. "Another twenty points from Gryffindor, and a zero for the day!" He growled, vanishing the contents of his cauldron with a hard slash of his wand.

They had watched as Weasley's mouth had fallen open in dismay. Then the most amazing thing had happened; Neville had hissed across the room, "Shut it Ron! Before we lose any more points!"

The other Gryffindors had nodded as one and Seamus had even gone so far as to punch  
Weasley's arm in a decidedly unfriendly manner.

"Get out of my classroom. NOW!" Snape had yelled when Weasley hadn't immediately moved.

. . .

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Harry had noticed that in exchange for his sense of hearing, his other remaining senses had in turn seemed to increase in strength. That day, the pumpkin smell followed him wherever they went, even after the others in his classes had stopped remarking on its presence.

Harry had been practicing with both Professors Snape and Flitwick on vocalizing his spells as he signed them, and finally he was going to have an opportunity to see if he could pull it off during a regular class.

 _"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too - never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."_

Professor Snape had already forewarned Flitwick about appropriate partners for Harry (i.e. Teddy or Neville, since they already knew about Harry's atypical spell methods). Therefore, it wasn't any great surprise that he ended up working with Teddy that day. Harry grinned apologetically at Neville, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it.

Furthermore, he was prepared when Flitwick came towards them and cast a minor diversion charm on their table. None of the other students even seemed to notice Flitwick's actions.

The tiny professor had explained it to Harry earlier that week.

 _"You see, Harry," Flitwick had said, "This is a very mild charm that will keep the attention of your classmates away from us as you perform the spell for me. Anything more and it is likely that they will notice your absence."_

"You're sure this will work?" Harry asked as Flitwick rounded the edge of their table.

"Unless someone is purposely watching, it should work fine. And," the little man said, glancing around at the barely controlled chaos around them, "I think everyone is presently too embroiled in attempting to make their own magic work."

Harry settled his anxiety by telling himself that Snape could just obliviate anyone who saw too much.

Then it was a simple matter of demonstrating the spell for Flitwick once more—his feather went all the way to the ceiling—before leaning back in relief and watching Teddy follow suit. It was only natural that his friend had also mastered the spell, especially considering the amount of time that Harry typically put in on practicing every day.

Flitwick cancelled the diversion spell before moving on to another pair of students, and Harry looked around to see how the others were doing. Beside them, Weasley was paired with Granger, and he took some delight in watching the red haired boy repeatedly failed attempts at mastering the spell.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry saw Granger snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Weasley snarled back.

Granger rolled up the sleeves of her robe, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

 _Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads._

 _"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"_

Harry understood that their professor couldn't draw attention to his success, but seeing the pleased smirk on Granger's face made something in the pit of his stomach burn.

"You did better," Teddy said quietly as they made their way out into the corridor following the end of class.

"He probably would have complimented you if not for all the bizarre hand waving you put into the spell," Granger said, stepping up boldly into their midst.

"Pardon?" Harry asked mildly, feeling his palms already beginning to sweat.

 _Was it possible she had been watching? Why would she have been watching?_

"I saw you perform the spell," she answered smartly. "And really, you're lucky it worked at all. You ought to be more careful with where you place your hands. If you don't watch out, Flitwick will cut your grade for sure," she added with a haughty expression.

"Just stay out of it Granger," Teddy snarled, putting himself in-between Hermione and Harry once more.

"Flitwick is the professor and if he was okay with my spell work, then that's all that matters!" Harry said back, feeling his anger begin to bubble up in his chest.

 _Why couldn't she just mind her own business?_

"I'm just trying to help," she shot back, purposely not looking at Teddy.

"No, you're trying to _fix_ me, and trust me that you can't!" Harry said angrily. Around them, Harry became aware that the other students had slowed to a stop and were now all intently staring at them.

Fighting off the urge to blush, he rounded on Hermione one final time.

"I don't need help from _you!_ " He said with a low growl.

Granger seemed to be lost for words, and Harry took that opportunity to grab Teddy's sleeve and head to their next class.

It was only afterwards, after they had made their way up to the Great Hall for the Hallowe'en feast, that he saw some of the Gryffindor girls talking about how upset Granger apparently was.

"She didn't show up to classes at all this afternoon," he saw Parvati Patil telling Lavender Brown.

"What's she saying?" Teddy asked as they sat down at the Slytherin table.

Harry shrugged, looking away from the Gryffindor table. "Granger seems to be crying in the bathroom."

"Typical," Teddy said with a shake of his head. "She can snark at others, but she can't handle it in reverse."

"Yeah," Harry snorted, mentally trying to push away the lost look that Granger's face had held when they left her standing in the middle of the hallway.

. . .

 _A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet._

 _Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face._

 _Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know." He then sank to the floor in a dead faint._

 _There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence._

"Bloody hell," Teddy groused beside him.

"What?" Harry asked, purposely not looking at Dumbledore.

"Back to the dorms," Teddy said with a shrug and stood up.

Around them, everyone was getting up and Harry could already see the two Slytherin prefects heading their way.

"Going for the firsties first," Flint cackled a few feet away from them. "Don't want you all to get lost in the hubbub," the upperclassman said.

"Come on," Harry said, ducking out of the entrance hall and heading back down the way they had just come. "Flint gives me the creeps," he said when they were safely away from the leering older boy.

"You'll get no argument from me," Teddy said with a shake of his head.

It wasn't until they were already a couple of hallways over that Harry remembered what they had found out about Granger.

"Wait, woah hold on," Harry said, pulling Teddy to the side slightly and out of the press of bodies swarming around them.

"What?"

"Granger. She doesn't know. I never saw her come in," Harry said, giving a piercing look to his best friend.

"Hell," Teddy said, pushing a hand through his even brown hair. "This isn't just you feeling guilty, is it?"

Harry shook his head. "I just—I dunno. I have a feeling about her, and I think this is one of those times I ought to listen to my gut."

He had told Teddy a bit—a very small bit—about his time on the streets of London. If there had been one thing that he had taken away from that experience, it was that he needed to listen to his instincts when he could.

Teddy knew that, and Harry felt that was probably why his friend agreed to turn back against the crowd and go searching after the idiot Gryffindor girl.

. . .

Harry smelled it first. It was an awful smell; one that reminded him of his days cleaning up after his relatives and their pig-like ways.

"Agh, can you smell that?"

"Smell what?" Teddy asked, glancing at him with a strange expression.

"Like a toilet gone bad at the back of a locker room," Harry said with a grimace. "I think that means we're going the right way."

A few corridors later and they could both smell it. By the time they saw the troll, Harry's eyes were watering and he could feel a headache blossoming at the back of his skull.

 _It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long._

 _The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room._

"Shite," Harry muttered, looking wildly at Teddy. "That's the girls' toilet!"

Just then, Teddy froze and grabbed Harry's arm with a near pinching grip.

"Someone just screamed from inside!" He explained before jogging towards the toilet, Harry just behind him.

Cautiously they entered the loo.

 _Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went._

"Bloody hell!" Teddy yelled.

The troll paused in its movement as though confused.

"Oy!" Harry yelled, grabbing at the idea of distracting the giant creature. He grabbed a pipe from the broken sink fixtures and threw it at the monster's back. Beside him, Teddy did the same, still yelling curses as he went.

Harry quickly saw that the troll couldn't even feel the pipes, but he could hear the noise and it was clear that he was being driven berserk by it. Running through his options in his head, Harry happened to glance towards Granger and was reminded once again why he didn't like girls.

She was frozen against the wall; her mouth open with terror as the troll leaned its tiny head back and roared within the small room.

 _Or maybe it's just Gryffindor girls,_ he amended as he pulled out his wand. He liked Millicent Bulstrode just fine. And somehow, he couldn't imagine her screaming in terror as something monstrous tried to eat her.

Teddy was still yelling beside him and the troll didn't seem to be able to make up its mind about which way to go.

 _Friend!_ Harry's mind yammered at him. He didn't know when Teddy had worked his way over from ally to friend within his thinking, but it didn't matter. Teddy was _his_ friend and nobody messed with something of _his._

Instinctively putting his left hand into the sign for flying, his eyes alit on the troll's giant club and without another thought he swished and flicked his wand at it. Instantly the club rose up into the air above the troll's head and Harry immediately cancelled the spell. The massive club fell on the troll, knocking it out and dropping the monster's body to the soaked floor. Harry imagined that it must have made a great huge noise, as even he could hear something indistinct as the ground rumbled with the impact and the stalls shook around them.

He watched as Granger hesitantly made it over to them, and asked, "Is it dead?"

"Still breathing, isn't it?" Teddy answered, breathing hard himself.

Hermione didn't say anything. She seemed to be intent on staring at Harry instead.

"Trying to figure out how to get out of saying thanks to a couple of Slytherins?" Teddy taunted angrily at her continued silence.

"I—," she shook her head and looked down for a brief moment. "Thank you—both," she glanced back at Harry then and frowned. "You did that spell silently."

"You just couldn't hear me," Harry argued, shaking his head.

"Actually," Hermione said, straightening suddenly as her eyes widened appreciatively. "That makes sense, really. It—," she whirled towards Teddy. "You know about him!" She gasped, turning back towards Harry. "You're deaf, aren't you!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Certain quotes came from chapter 10 of J.K. Rowling's "The Philosopher's Stone."


	12. Progress

From **Chapter 11 -**

_"Actually," Hermione said, straightening suddenly as her eyes widened appreciatively. "That makes sense, really. It—," she whirled towards Teddy. "You know about him!" She gasped, turning back towards Harry. "You're deaf, aren't you!"_

**. . .  
**

Harry stiffened at the accusation, but before he had a chance to retort, the other two looked up in surprise at something behind him, and he turned to see Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell all rush into the room. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall stared at Teddy and Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white.

"What on earth were you doing?" Her nostrils flared and Harry automatically took a step away.

Beside them, he saw Professor Snape straighten up from his examination and move slightly closer to where they were standing.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the furious glare from McGonagall shut him up and he edged farther away instead. He remembered that sort of anger from his uncle just before the man struck him, and he wanted no part of it here.

There was a slight flutter of black robes out of the corner of his eye, and then suddenly Snape was standing beside them. "Minerva," he saw the man say.

"What!" The older woman hissed back, her teeth clenched as her eyes flashed in warning.

Their professor didn't speak, but merely glanced at them pointedly.

Harry looked at Teddy and saw that his friend looked decidedly ill as he stood slightly behind him. Hermione was no better; standing beside the broken sinks with her arms wrapped securely around her centre.

He wondered if his fear was evident on his face as well. The mirrors beside him were smashed, and abruptly he remembered his aunt screaming at him over the seven years of bad luck that such a thing caused.

 _'But I didn't break it!'_ He had tried to explain, ducking behind the sofa as she screamed and hurled dishes at his head. Dudley had done it when he had thrown a fit, but Harry had gotten the blame.

 _As always_ , he thought sourly.

McGonagall and Snape stared at one another for what felt like an interminable amount of time before the older woman broke eye contact with a huff.

"Now," Snape said, turning his focus on them. "Someone will explain how the three of you came to be out after being _expressly_ told to go straight to your dormitories."

Harry was still contemplating what to say when Hermione answered for them.

"Please sir," her eyes shining brightly even in the dim light of the now destroyed bathroom. "It's m-my fault."

Harry couldn't hear the squeakiness of her voice, but he _could_ see the terror in her face; the way her lower lip trembled and how her body was tensed far too tightly.

"Enlighten us," McGonagall prompted; her face a hair softer as she gazed down at one of her own.

"I thought," the girl hesitated and put her head down as her lip trembled wildly. Taking a deep breath, she looked up and tried again to explain. "I thought I could handle it, because I'd read all about them, you see."

Harry blinked in surprise as he watched Hermione lie to two of their professors—well, three if he counted Quirrell (which he didn't). He tried to ignore the way Professor Snape was staring at them all, especially him. It was almost as if he could feel his head of house's eyes inside his head, seeking out the inner tendrils of his heart's emotions.

"They must have heard me scream, because suddenly they were here, saving me."

Harry's eyes flicked to Snape's when Hermione mentioned that he had 'heard.'

 _SHE KNOWS!_ His mind squawked loudly as they caught one another's eye. Was it Harry's imagination, or did Snape give a slight nod of understanding?

 _Can the man read minds? Is such a thing possible in the wizarding world?_ It was worth looking into. _Maybe I should ask Moody._

"Miss Granger, you foolish girl," McGonagall said, shaking her head. "How could you even think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?" Hermione hung her head in response as Teddy and Harry watched on in carefully hidden surprise.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," McGonagall added, glancing at Snape as she spoke. "I shall leave you to punish your snakes as you see put," she said, putting an arm to Hermione's shoulder to lead her away.

Beside him, Professor Snape straightened slightly and moved closer to the two Gryffindors.

"Is there something else you'd like to say?" McGonagall asked, looking tiredly at him.

"I would think it prudent to keep the events of what happened here tonight to ourselves, Minerva," he murmured, barely audible to those who were listening.

"Albus already knows," McGonagall countered with a wry upturn of her lips.

"Of course he does," Snape answered dourly. "However, it would be in the best _interest_ of the school's inhabitants if these students' little _misadventure_ did not become tomorrow's front page of the Daily Prophet." Harry shivered as he felt a subtle layer of magic drop down around them with his professor's words.

Apparently McGonagall saw the truth of his statement, because she began nodding before he finished speaking.

A piece of rubble ground across the floor, and Harry looked across the room and saw Quirrell slowly making it to his feet. "Y-Yes, I th-th-think S-S-S-Severus is right," the nervous looking man said, wringing his hands in his robes as they all turned their eyes on him.

"What do you propose?" McGonagall asked, shifting on her feet before them.

"A simple binding pact," Snape answered smoothly, holding his wand out in front of his body. "I, Severus Snape, will not speak of tonight's events with anyone outside of this room." A light burned through his wand and then darkened.

At his professor's nod, Harry repeated the sentiment, feeling a strange tingle move through his fingers as he made his promise as well. Slowly the others echoed the promise, each of their wands lighting up until only Hermione was left.

"But," Hermione paused looking back and forth between McGonagall and Snape in bewilderment.

"We can talk tomorrow," McGonagall answered. "Come on, Miss Granger. Get on with it."

"I, Hermione Granger, will n-not speak of tonight's events with anyone outside this room," the girl answered slowly, a consternated expression on her face as she spoke. When she finished the agreement, all of their wands glowed briefly again, and then the light was gone.

"Come," Snape said to Harry and Teddy. "I want a word with you two."

Harry glanced at Teddy and raised an eyebrow. This wasn't likely to be a pleasant conversation.

. . .

_As they entered November, the weather turned very cold._

Harry reflected on the previous night's conversation with Professor Snape and Teddy. The man had wanted the full details of what had happened, and after making sure they wouldn't be punished any further for it, Harry had given him the truth. As it was, he and Teddy were given a week's worth of detentions with Snape for the "reckless endangerment of their lives."

"You should have come to me as soon as you realised Miss Granger's predicament," Snape had berated them.

On the other hand, after finding out that Harry's signed magic had been so successful, the conversation had taken an upturn and they had spent the remaining time in Snape's quarters, eating and talking about magical theory.

The next few weeks progressed very quickly. Harry and Teddy, with the help and guidance of Professor Snape, fought to stay at least a week ahead in all of their studies, if not more. They had chopped and sliced their way through most of their week of detention, but they had also—with Snape's help—worked on that semester's upcoming assignments in Potions.

Luckily, Flitwick was just as interested in Harry's continued progress with signed magic as he was, and therefore had continued to tutor him whenever he had a spare moment. With the combined help of Flitwick and Snape, Harry and Teddy were now almost a full month ahead of their classmates in Charms.

In turn, Harry took what they learned from Snape to Neville, and occasionally Hermione—even though she usually didn't need much help.

It was strange how they had gone from merely _tolerating_ the girl's presence to actually involving her in their everyday lives. Part of it was Neville; although he was still somewhat of an outcast within his own house, he at least had someone to talk to everyday thanks to Harry and Teddy. As he had become better established with them, he had come to realise just how desperately lonely the girl was, and being rather kind hearted, he had begun suggesting they include her in their study sessions.

"What could it hurt? You said she figured it out, and she's not allowed to tell anyone," Neville had argued quite logically.

Harry had finally agreed, but not only because of Neville's wishes. The girl was smart, certainly; anyone with a handful of brain cells could ascertain that, but there was still something else about her that piqued his interest. She definitely had spunk; proving it by _lying_ to both Snape and McGonagall for them.

McGonagall. He shook his head as he thought about the hard faced woman. He was sure as hell happy _not_ to be in the woman's house. He could only imagine what sort of state he would have been in if he had been forced to rely on her to help him out. He knew that both of his parents had been in Gryffindor and supposedly they'd been happy there, but the idea still made him itch.

Was he really so different from them? He'd heard stories about his father, but not very many about his mother. His mind wandered back to Snape's reasons for giving them detention. They had gotten in trouble because they had been reckless. Had he inherited that sort of thing from his father? Or was that simply a result of growing up knowing no one gave a damn about what he did as long as it didn't affect them?

"Does Quirrell make any of the rest of you feel odd?" He asked Teddy, Neville and Hermione one afternoon not long after the troll incident. They had just left defence and were headed to their next class. His head had hurt unbearably the entire class period, and he couldn't help but think that the two were related.

Neville and Hermione shook their heads, but Teddy simply stared back at him in quiet consternation.

"Yeah, Teddy?" Harry prompted.

"Sometimes," his friend started slowly, staring off down the hall, "I catch him staring at us, and there's something different about his eyes then." Abruptly the other boy shook himself and the distant expression faded from his face.

Harry nodded, clenching his jaw tightly until it ached and he forced himself to relax.

"You okay, Harry?" Neville turned and looked at him closely. "You're not looking too good."

Harry snorted bitterly at the question. "I never look good, Neville."

The other boy only smiled sadly at him before reiterating his previous question. "You're really pale. Have you eaten today? I got an apple in my bag if you want it."

The idea of food made his head spin even worse than it had been. "No thanks, Nev," he answered, waving a hand in refusal.  
Someone shoved him, and Harry found himself looking up into the scowling face of the youngest Weasley. "I don't blame him for not wanting anything from _you_ , Longbottom," Weasley sneered in greeting.

Weasley's eyes moved to someone behind Harry, and then after a pause suddenly spat out, "And you can bugger off too, Granger!"

"Get out of my way, Weasel," Harry growled, borrowing Malfoy's commonly used insult.

"You're not in the dungeons now, _Rotter_ ," Weasley answered back, pointing his thin index finger into Harry's chest. "No _Snaky Snape_ to save you." The other boys surrounding Weasley laughed and Harry quietly slipped his wand into his unoccupied hand.

Harry laughed out loud at the other boy's words, causing Thomas and Finnigan to glance at him nervously.

"Don't you know anything, Weasel?" He asked, adjusting his stance slightly. "Snape doesn't save _me_. He saves _you_." Harry brought his wand up into the narrow space between their bodies and jabbed it hard into Weasley's sternum.

"Now, unless you want to start wearing your bones on the _outside_ of your body," Harry threatened with a dim smile, "I suggest you get the _fuck_ out of my way, got me?" He said, narrowing his eyes in silent warning.

"Bloody Slytherin!" Weasley hissed, grabbing Harry by the front of his robes and hoisting him up.

"Ronald Weasley! What in Merlin's name are you doing!"

Hastily, Weasley dropped him and pushed himself around to look at the angry visage of Professor McGonagall. In the time in between dropping him and turning around, Harry managed to shove his wand back up into his sleeve and slump down over his crutch as though he had been hurt by Weasley's manhandling.

"He was threatening me with a wand, ma'am!" Weasley said, pointing at Harry with a long skinny arm.

McGonagall's eyes flicked at him briefly in silent evaluation.

"The only wand out is yours, Mr. Weasley," she retorted.

Harry looked down and saw that Weasley's wand was indeed in his hand, being held by a white knuckled fist.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said smoothly, ushering them into her classroom. "And detention with Professor Snape," she added as they hurriedly sat down.

"That _git_ threatens me, and _I_ get detention!" Weasley spluttered, gesturing wildly at Harry.

"I did not see or hear him do such a thing," McGonagall countered, lifting an eyebrow. "But if you do not calm yourself, it will be _two_ nights. Do you understand?"

Harry felt Teddy twitch beside him, and he glanced at his friend to see that he was just barely managing to hold in his laughter. It was a rare sight and Harry smirked in appreciation.

The night before the first Quidditch game of the season, Harry awoke from a nightmare with a gasp, his heart pounding loud and fast in his ears as he shoved himself upright. Drawing his hands down his arms frantically, nearly choking on his tears, he tried to make sure he was still in one piece. He had dreamt that he was in the hospital; dreamt about the nurses coming to scrape off his dead burnt skin, leaving him open and raw in his pain. He had thought then, and sometimes afterwards, that he would have almost preferred to have been allowed to die than to suffer all of that. And he knew now that if he had to go through it again, he wouldn't. They couldn't make him.

"I'll kill myself before that," he muttered, swinging out of bed while wiping his face free of the leftover tears.

Pushing his stump into his artificial leg, he made it onto his feet, pulling the blanket after him as he went. Grabbing his glasses from the table beside him, he wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders and picked up his bag. He did all of this by touch, not wanting to light anything for fear of waking Teddy. His friend had his own nightmares, although he didn't usually let the other boy know he was awake during them.

Out in the common room once again, Harry headed for his favourite sofa. It was in the far corner of the room, facing outwards to both the main entrance of Slytherin, as well as the hallways that led to the dorm rooms themselves. At his back was the thick wall of magically enforced glass that separated the room from the lake. Tossing his bag on the seat beside him, he curled up into the corner of the cushions, unwrapping and rewrapping his blanket around him until he was satisfied.

His stump ached a bit, but it wasn't too bad. It always hurt more when it was cold, and he knew without a doubt that it would hurt worse before it got better. It was only November, and he was prepared to be cold for a lot longer.

 _At least I'm inside this year_ , he thought ruefully as he rummaged through his bag.

A beautiful snow white owl had delivered a message from Moody that evening at dinner, but he hadn't had a chance to read it yet. The owl had distracted him from eating much more, so as he pulled out the letter, he also pulled out a smaller bag that he had convinced Snape to magic with a preservation spell. In turn, Snape had made him promise to _eat_ what was in the bag, or else he was going to start having to take two nutrition potions per day, instead of just the one he was currently eating with breakfast.

"Urgh," he shuddered at the thought. Those things might make it easier for him to eat _after_ imbibing them, but smelling it early in the morning was almost enough to put him off his feed for the rest of the day.

Munching on a roll and still feeling the phantom pains from his nightmare travelling up and down his body, he unrolled the missive from Moody and began to read.

 _'Harry,'_ it said in Moody's left slanted script.

_'Glad you wrote. Meant I didn't have to come up and check up on you.'_

Harry grinned as he read Moody's words. He would have liked to see Moody stomping through the hallways demanding to see him. It brought a warm glow to his stomach at the thought.

_'You have another dream like that, you ought to tell Snape. That's what he's there for. Don't like the idea of you being all alone like that. I meant it when I said you could write anytime. Well, you can also firecall me if you need to. Ask Snape or your friend about how that works.'_

For a moment, Harry stopped reading and curled his hands around his middle. Moody didn't want him to be alone. It was such a foreign idea.

Hastily, he knuckled away the tears that were trying to escape from his left eye and continued reading.

_'Speaking of your friend, I'm glad you've made one. And your suspicions about him are dead on. His father, Tiberius Nott, has been in and out of Azkaban for the majority of his adult life. He has been arrested for crimes against muggles and wizards both, and we have long suspected him of having Death Eater ties. Unfortunately, we only had the word of one man to convict him, and we couldn't hold him without better proof. He's committed plenty of other documented crimes though.'_

_'Tiberius Nott was a Slytherin too, but you know better'n me that not all Slytherins are bad. Took me a while to learn that lesson though. Course, your parents were betrayed by a Gryffindor, and that helped open me eyes a bit further.'_

Harry numbly slumped back against the back of the sofa. He'd know his parents had been betrayed, but he hadn't known it had been a Gryffindor that had done it. Maybe he could ask Snape.

He thought over what Moody had said about Teddy's father. Was Nott Sr. in prison now? What was he like around his family? Uncle Vernon was a nasty man to be around, but he genuinely seemed to love his family. Maybe Teddy's father was like that? He didn't know and he wasn't sure if he could ask.

_'Your bloody family disgusts me. I been thinking a lot on that lately, to tell you the truth. I still have connections in the Ministry, even though I been retired for some years now. I'm thinking a formal inquiry might be a good place to start, and if that don't pan out, then maybe me and a few friends could visit them late one night.'_

He blinked in surprise; not only because Moody was actually planning to do something, but because he had bothered to tell him about it.

_'It ain't right to treat someone the way you've been treated. Makes my blood boil. I worked some with your father, back when he was just getting started. He was a good man, and he loved you and your mother more than words can describe. There used to be a saying 'round here: "Work for the Ministry and the Ministry works for you."'_

_'Well, let me tell you that James Potter has been let down by the Ministry in the way old Al let you be raised. I don't know what he was thinking putting you with those muggles that are your_ _ family _ _. I did me some digging into Vernon Dursley's history, and while it isn't as violent as Nott Sr.'s, it's still worth a read.'_

_'His pa was a factory worker, but it looks like he spent a fair time drinking his wages as spending them on his family. Looks like Vernon got in trouble at nine for burning down an old condemned house that used to serve as the town's hangout for the homeless and derelict. A little more digging and I found out that a couple of old prostitutes were killed in the fire, but he wasn't charged with their deaths 'cause of his age.'_

"Wow," Harry breathed, his eyes flying over the paper. He had never heard anything about Vernon as a child, or any of his familial history—except for Marge—and he found it fascinating.

_'Him and that sister of his were known by name by every law enforcement official in that area. I visited there as a muggle agent and they all had stories about what Vernon and Marge did growing up. It seems that their mum was a bit of a drinker herself, and ultimately allowed them to run free. I asked why they weren't removed from their home, and it turns out they were, several times, but the Dursleys would always sober up in time to get 'em back.'_

_'Things came to a head when Vernon was fifteen or so. He stole a car, one with a baby in it. Apparently his mum made a complete spectacle of herself at his trial; ranting and screaming, tearing her hair and clothes. She had to be taken away and committed. As far as I can tell, she's still there. It's probably best for all involved, actually, considering what she was like. Mr. Dursley disappeared too, only to be later found in the house dead. He hung himself, or so everyone thought. There were a couple of older officers who told me that something was off about his death. They thought Marge had something to do with it, but couldn't pin anything on her.'_

Marge? A murderer? The thought, while a bit disturbing, wasn't really all that surprising once he considered it a bit more. He remembered the way she had looked at him; as though he were nothing more than a piece of meat to be devoured by a hungry dog, and he shivered at the thought. Yeah, he could see her as a murderer.

He read over that part of the letter again, trying to imagine Moody tromping around in some backwater town, asking questions to mostly retired gentlemen about something that had happened so long ago.

"He didn't just dig," he mused aloud, albeit in a whisper. "He _excavated_."

But why? Was it just curiosity on Moody's part?

His eyes wandered back to the letter and he read on.

 _'They found him guilty, but instead of prison or shipping him out to some farm, a man by the name of Peter Grunnings came forth and offered to foster them. There was some debate by the town officials over his not getting punished appropriately, but ultimately the deciding point was that Grunnings promised to keep him_ _ and _ _his sister in line. And as far as I can tell, he did.'_

Harry wondered exactly what that meant. Had Vernon learned his punishment techniques from Grunnings? Or was that just Vernon?

 _'Speaking of keeping in line, I got notes from Snape about each of those fights you were in, and it looks like you were just responding the way you would to any_ _ muggle _ _threat. Well, Snape told me what he told you, and though I'd hate to agree with the man, I can't help but do so for once. I'm not saying I want you to get into fights if you can get out of them some other way, but if you have to go through with them, it'd be best to use your magic first.'_

Harry dropped his head onto his hand. Well, there was no other way around it then. He needed to ask Snape for help with defence as well.

He thought of the headaches he'd been having and thought about when each of them had occurred. Something was wrong with Quirrell and it wasn't just his damned stutter. Surely Snape saw it too? He wasn't really sure; things that affected him seriously had never been validated by any adults when he had been living under the Dursley roof, and the idea that someone else might notice now nearly blew his mind.

"It's not safe," he whispered, clenching the fist that was missing the two fingers. "I trust in people, get it thrown back in my face. I believe what people say, and they throw it back in my face. I _ask_ for help, and they don't help me."

But Snape made him want to believe differently. Snape seemed to really want him to trust him.

 _'I protect my own,'_ the man had told him more than once while working with him on his signed magic.

Harry shook his head. He _wanted_ to believe him. He really did. He wanted so much that he could feel it aching inside his chest whenever Snape looked at him with those calm steady, dark eyes.

He looked back down at the letter, hoping that Moody's words would help him decide. Moody had _found_ him, had come to _him_ where _he_ was. Moody understood about being a freak in the midst of two-legged people.

_'That Weasley boy still giving you trouble? I suspect that Al is interfering in that family somehow. I can't understand any other excuse for why that boy'd be so far off the mark from the rest of his clan.'_

_Meddling?_ Harry thought in confusion. _What kind of meddling?_

_'Seems that everyone knew how you were gonna be before you ever got to be. I think Al had it all planned out, and your getting sorted into Slytherin upended those plans.'_

Oh.

Then he was even gladder that he was in Slytherin.

_'Keep up your friend making. I'm pretty fond of the disliked population as well. We seem to be more honest than those concerned with the polite machinations of civilized company. Speaking of making friends, this owl showed up on my doorstep a few mornings ago. She looked like she was trying to find something or someone, and trust me when I tell you I wasn't it.'_

_'Would you like to keep her?'_

_'Moody'_


	13. Quidditch

He had run up to the owlery early the next morning, hoping beyond all hopes that the owl would still be there. When he found her, he had grinned hugely and then gingerly walked up to her. She watched him the entire time with large, intelligent eyes, but didn't move or fly away despite having all of the opportunities in the world for doing so.

"I could be your owner, if you'd like." He offered softly, stretching his fingers out to gently touch her feathers. "I could take care of you. We could be a family, if you wanted."

She had hooted softly at him and cocked her head as though considering the offer.

"My name is Harry and I'm a first year. I don't know very much, but I'm trying to learn as fast as I can." He had continued to murmur to her in a soft voice until she had flown over to his shoulder. At that point, he had figured she was his.

Harry decided to name her, 'Hedwig;' a name he had found in his History of Magic text. He nearly skipped all the way back down to the dungeons to get Teddy up for breakfast. He slowed down in the corridor that led to the common room, and then came to a complete stop when he saw Professor Snape turn the corner.

"Professor?"

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, nodding his head in greeting. "What brings you out so early on a Saturday?" His eyes glittered in curiosity.

Harry grinned widely and then immediately got control over himself. There was no way that Snape could take the owl from him since they were allowed and he didn't have one. Besides, Snape wouldn't do that to him, right?

"Harry?" Snape prompted softly, stepping closer to him when he didn't answer immediately.

"I have a familiar now sir," he finally offered, looking up hopefully.

"What kind?"

"An owl, sir. Moody sent her to me," Harry said, nearly bursting with pride.

Snape's lips crinkled at the mention of 'Moody,' but he only said, "Well done, Harry. Have you decided on a name?"

"Hedwig. I read it in my History of Magic book."

Snape was silent for a moment as he visibly pondered what he had been told, and then said, "A good name, Harry. Are you going to the game today?"

"Yes sir. I was just going to get Teddy."

"Ah, Mr. Nott," Snape answered with a small uplift of his lips. "I shall see you at breakfast then?"

"Yes sir," Harry responded with a grin before heading for the Slytherin dorms.

. . .

Severus Snape waited until the boy was safely inside the portrait before taking his leave. He was loath to admit it, but it seemed that Moody had done them both a great favour by giving Harry that owl. He had never seen the boy smile quite so brightly or openly. It seemed that he would have to write the old bastard a letter of thanks.

He made for his quarters first, intent on getting the note off before he changed his mind. It was just as well that he did, given the visitor he found loitering outside his door when he arrived.

"Where ya been, Snape?" Moody gruffly greeted him as Snape walked carefully up to him.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the man's lack of manners before answering, "Having a conversation with Mr. Potter."

"Yeah, how is he?" Moody growled, his eyes showing real interest.

Snape hesitated. He didn't want Moody in his inner sanctum, but he didn't want to have this conversation in the open.

As though he were reading his thoughts, Moody gestured to his portrait door and said, "You gonna let me in or do you wanna stand here all day?"

Severus pursed his lips and then leaned in closely to the portrait guarding the entrance and whispered the password in a barely audible voice. The portrait of Slytherin swung open immediately, but not before giving Moody a raised brow of its own.

. . .

Moody was waiting for Harry and Teddy when they left the Great Hall after breakfast that morning. Students were giving him a wide berth, particularly the older Slytherins, but Harry had no such hesitations. Nearly dragging Teddy with him, he walked straight up to the older man and greeted him with a soft, "Hullo, sir." His words were accompanied by a shy and very quick smile.

"Let's take a walk outside," Moody suggested gruffly, nodding his head towards the direction of the grounds.

Pulling Teddy behind him, Harry followed along after in silence. Moody veered off towards the courtyard, removing them from the press of bodies all headed for the Quidditch pitch.

"This is my friend, Teddy," Harry said, presenting his friend to the older auror.

Moody looked over at the small boy standing besides Harry and gave a jerky nod. "You're in Slytherin then as well?"

"Yes sir," Teddy answered stiffly.

Teddy remembered his father talking about the crazy auror Moody, and he wasn't sure whether to be scared or just wary of the man. Of course, his father went on rants about many people, but Moody was one of the few that had been mentioned more than once.

Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, Teddy looked up at the auror and said bluntly, "My father doesn't like you."

Beside him, he heard Harry let out a slow breath. He didn't like being this open about his family, but he also wanted the man to understand that he wasn't his father. Harry was his best friend, and if that meant going against his father, then he'd do it.

Moody smirked at his words and gave a chuckle that sounded more like a cough than anything else. "Can't say I much like him either." Something shifted in Moody's eyes and Teddy held his breath. "And what do you think, Mr. Nott?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet," he answered, pleased that the older man understood where he was coming from.

"Try not to make it up too quickly then, lad," Moody said with a rare wink.

"Yes sir."

"There's a Quidditch game today, sir," Harry offered from beside them. "Would you like to come with us?"

Teddy glanced at Harry and gave a minute nod. He could handle that. He could feel Moody watching them and knew that the older man had seen his approval. He had a feeling that not much made it past the gnarled auror.

"If you'd like," Moody answered, gesturing them towards the pitch again. "And maybe you can tell me a bit about how you two are getting on here."

. . .

"Severus? A word?" Dumbledore called out to Severus on his way out of the Great Hall.

Instantly he doubled his occlumency shields and then slowly turned to look at his employer.

"Here?" He asked mildly.

"Let's walk," Dumbledore said.

Severus knew it wasn't a suggestion.

"Tell me about how Mr. Potter is doing," Dumbledore prompted as soon as they were a bit farther away.

Severus forced himself to take a deep steadying breath before speaking. He knew better than most that there were far too many ways to foul this conversation up.

"It has taken a while, but I believe he is finally starting to adjust to life at Hogwarts," he said, speaking slowly and carefully.

"And as a Snake?" One of Dumbledore's white bushy eyebrows raised in question.

Severus nodded. "He is fairing adequately."

"Good, good!" Was his employer's more than jovial response.

 _And relieved, if I am not mistaken_ , Severus pondered with sharp eyed interest behind the safety of his occlumency shields.

They walked in silence for a few more classrooms before Dumbledore spoke again.

"Severus," the old man began, looking strangely uncomfortable. "I wonder if you know where Mr. Potter is going to be spending his holidays?"

Severus felt his heart rate quicken slightly at the question, wondering once more exactly what the old man knew about his Snake's home life.

"I believe he is planning to stay here at the castle," was his softly spoken answer, even though the boy had indicated no such thing to him.

The smile that Dumbledore bestowed upon him was most definitely a relieved one and Severus felt his insides knot up in response.

"Every child should spend at least one Christmas here, don't you think, Severus?" Dumbledore said, glancing out the window towards the Quidditch pitch.

"At least once, sir," Severus answered automatically, knowing what to say in order to be left alone.

Neither of them mentioned that Severus never had gone home during the Christmas hols either, and looking at Dumbledore now, Severus wondered if his employer even remembered that.

As Dumbledore swept away from him in a flurry of brightly coloured robes and twinkling eyes, Severus continued to stare out the window for a while longer, deeply lost in his own thoughts. He couldn't imagine that Harry would want to spend his holidays anywhere else other than the castle, but now he would need to make sure.

. . .

"GO SLYTHERIN!" The students sitting around Moody screamed together as one of their Chasers scored again.

On one side he had Mr. Nott and on the other, he had Mr. Potter. They seemed intent on shielding him from the crowd of students, and he found himself more than a little amused and perhaps even a bit touched at the action.

"Miles Bletchley is the best Keeper Slytherin has had in years," Nott was currently explaining to them both. His eyes shone with more animation than Moody had ever seen out of Nott Sr.'s own.

"I prefer the Gryffindor beaters' style to the Slytherin ones though," Nott added, looking to Harry for an opinion.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lost among the players in the sky as he formulated his response.

Looking back at them, he said, "Derrick and Boles are hopelessly idiotic. They don't have any imagination at all."

"Course," Moody finally added, butting into the non-stop stream of conversation, "None of that matters if yeh don't have a good Seeker." Beside him, Nott nodded fervently as Harry simply stared back contemplatively.

"Yeh'll see what I mean," he said gruffly, lightly patting the boy on his overly thin shoulder and feeling a concealed flinch as he touched him.

Harry hated that he couldn't help from flinching when other people touched him. It was bad enough when his teachers did it, but now with Moody his uncontrollable reaction was almost enough to make him scream with frustration.

Seeking a way to change the subject lest Moody do the unthinkable and _ask_ him about it, Harry brought up the subject of learning magic.

"Could you set up some sort of silencing spell around us, Moody?" Harry asked in what he hoped was a soft voice.

 _Of course, with the amount of noise that's probably happening out here, it probably doesn't really matter_ , he mused to himself.

"Already did, lad," Moody answered with a wry twist of his scarred face. "When we first sat down."

Harry relaxed minutely. That was important to remember about Moody; he was always prepared, and it made him feel safe because of it.

With a quick glance to Teddy first, Harry tentatively began to tell the older man about their discoveries regarding signed magic and why it was necessary to begin with. Instead of scorn or boredom, both his and Teddy's words were met with slightly amazed and very definite interest from the older man.

"And yeh do this with a wand, you say?" Moody asked, looking intently back and forth between them both.

"Yes sir," Harry said, once he had the older man's eye again. "And we figured out that some spells work better with the left hand as opposed to the right hand. Sometimes that's because of what sign has to be signed, but then Teddy realised that some spells simply _work_ better with the other hand, and _Snape_ thinks that may have to do with what part of the brain is being utilized . . ." he yammered on, talking to Moody like he did when he spoke to Teddy and Snape.

He was just promising to write down all of his discoveries and send them in a note to Moody when suddenly the crowd froze around them and he watched as both of his friends looked up to the sky in dawning horror.

Following their eyes, he stared out in helplessness as Terence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker began to shake and roll on his broom. They watched as Higgs' broom jerked and swung like a machinated bucking bull, throwing the Slytherin boy from one side to the other.

Beside him, he saw Moody jump to his feet, surprisingly spry, despite what Harry knew about him, and whip out his wand. Muttering some kind of incomprehensible spell, Harry _felt_ the strength of the magic wash past him, making him slump in his seat at the pure ferociousness of it.

Higgs was now only hanging onto the broom with his hands, his legs somehow having lost their purchase in all of the wild jerks and rolls they had been subjected to.

Moving in slow motion from the effect of Moody's ongoing spell, Harry tried to look for Snape, and saw him doing the exact same thing as the older man beside him. He shivered, suddenly feeling very cold as something much darker pulsed out onto the field around them both, and he could tell that what they were doing wasn't going to be enough.

Below Higgs, the other players circled, trying to make themselves available should he fall, and dimly Harry wondered why no one was doing anything to cushion the landing. Almost as though reading his mind, he suddenly saw Moody redirect his wand to the ground, and not a moment too soon.

Although Harry was unaware of it, a cry went up from the crowd as Higgs' fingertips lost their tenuous hold on the broomstick, but he saw the event itself as it happened, his eye frozen in a downwards arc as his housemate fell to the earth in what felt like slow motion.

"Come on lad. Up you get," Moody was saying to him next, tentatively shaking his shoulder. Harry could feel the cold of the other man's fingertips through his robe and thought for a moment that he might be sick.

"Is he—?" Harry didn't quite dare ask.

"Madam Pomfrey's got him now. He'll be as good as can be in a bit," Moody answered, pushing Harry and Teddy out of the stands faster than his legs seemed to be able to move. "We need to get outta here," Moody growled, none too gently.

Harry felt the pulse of dark magic again as they passed the teacher's box and his knees buckled as it swept through him. Calloused hands caught him as he fell, picking him up and cradling him against a strong shoulder as they continued to move.

The darkness pressed in against his forehead, against his eyelids, causing him to cry out into Moody's chest, where it was muffled into near silence. His scar felt as though it were about to burst, and he gritted his teeth against the pain until it passed.

Then suddenly, it was gone and he slumped boneless against Moody's arms as his eyes rolled back in his head.

. . .

Harry found his way back to consciousness very slowly. For a moment his mind was blank and then it all came back to him in a wave of emotion.

 _Gah,_ _did Moody really carry me out of there?_ He wondered, feeling a strange combination of shame and also some kind of shy thankfulness for the man's actions. _The Dursleys would have just let me fall. The Dursleys wouldn't have been seen with me anyway._

Carefully, he cracked open an eye and found himself back in Snape's quarters, in a transfigured bed that was slightly smaller than last time. He saw Teddy fast asleep in an overstuffed armchair beside him, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Ah, there yeh are lad," Moody moved slowly into his line of vision and he fought against the childish urge to hide underneath the bedclothes.

As it was, he blushed under the man's careful scrutiny and turned his head away slightly, only to see Snape staring back at him from the other side of the room. Oddly enough, the sight didn't surprise him and he managed to relax a bit with the knowledge that Snape was there too.

Shifting against the mountain of pillows at his back, Harry realised something else very important: his leg had been removed sometime while he had been unconscious. The urge to hide came back with a vengeance and he wondered who had done it.

"Seen yeh without it before, remember?" Moody said; instinctively knowing what his problem was as he sat down on the bed beside him. His greater weight caused everything to dip in that direction and Harry had to shift to keep from sliding that way.

"Yeah," Harry answered shyly, twisting his hands nervously in the bedclothes as he looked back at Moody.

"Not something yeh have to worry about with _me_ ," Moody added, lifting a gnarled hand up to pat his own disfigured one.

There was a lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow down around and that he couldn't ignore, and just as he felt the last vestiges of his control begin to crumble, Snape suddenly sat down on the other side of him.

"You should be resting, Harry," Snape said, saving him from the moment. Dark eyes looked into his own eye and he nodded in understanding—and thanks.

Looking back to Moody, it seemed that the older man was ready to argue with his head of house, but after a silent but fierce battle of glances and unspoken warnings, the man conceded with a sigh.

"I'll be seeing yeh then, Harry. Keep me updated," was all Moody said as he stood with concealed wince.

 _Write me_ , was what he meant, Harry knew. He felt a soft flush of pride at the man's instruction and he hoped it didn't show on his face. However, speaking of showing . . . the thought suddenly jarred his memory.

"Did anyone see?" He asked hurriedly, looking back and forth between his two mentors.

"Moody was," Severus rolled his eyes with a glimmer of a smile, " _Considerate_ enough to cast a disillusionment charm on you."

Harry let out a deep sigh of relief and then realised how Moody might have taken it.

"Not that I'm not thankful, sir," he quickly tried to explain to the older man still standing beside the bed.

"Reputations, eh Snape? All about reputations," Moody responded, dropping a wink Harry's way before ambling out the door.

The two Snakes watched until the door was shut firmly and then Harry turned back towards his professor with another question, "Sir, is Higgs all right?"

Before him, Severus let out his own sigh, his shoulders relaxing in such a way that he only did in front of his own Snakes.

"He will be, Harry. His broom was cursed by a very powerful caster that the headmaster has not yet been able to determine the identity of," Severus explained, hesitating a bit at the mention of Dumbledore.

"It was someone in the stands," Harry whispered, his eyes distant as he remembered the cold feel of the dark magic.

A hand on his left one brought him back to the present.

"What did you feel?" Severus asked him, dark eyes peering closely at him.

"It was cold. I could feel Moody's magic right beside me and it felt strong, but when we started to move out of the stands, we passed the teacher's box, and I felt it wrap around me like ice." Abruptly, he shivered and then they both watched as goosebumps appeared on his skin.

"I meant it when I said you should rest," Severus said, pulling the duvet up around his shoulders and removing some of the pillows from behind his back.

He saw his head of house pull out his wand and whisper something just as the covers around his body lit up with warmth. His shaking limbs relaxed almost immediately and his eye closed on its own accord.

"Teddy needs a blanket too," he murmured, barely able to keep his eye open.

"Shush, you silly snake," he thought Severus replied with, but he couldn't exactly tell as sleep claimed him.


	14. Magical Exhaustion

Severus hated staff meetings. As far as he was concerned, they were largely pointless wastes of time that Dumbledore scheduled in order to encourage inter-house cooperation. He had long promised himself that if they ever were forced to play trust building games, he was going to spike everyone's tea with something vomit inducing. He fingered vials for three such options in the inside pocket of his robes, and lifted the corner of his lips in an evil looking smile that left the weaker willed members of the staff feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"And as you can see, these are the students that are slated to be here over the holidays," Dumbledore was droning on as though they couldn't read their parchments. Severus eyed the people sitting at the table with him and sighed. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea after all, considering the calibre of intellect present.

He wasn't surprised that more members of Slytherin were staying for the Christmas holidays than any other house, but it did give him a start to hear that all of the school age Weasleys were going to be there that year as well. He'd have to keep a closer eye on his snakes, especially Harry. Of course, he was already planning to invite Harry to tea at least once during the holidays as well. He'd be happier if he could find a way to keep the boy with him most of the break.

 _Perhaps I can get him to assist me with some brewing_ , his thoughts trailed off as Poppy stood off and begun her report.

"Higgs is resting comfortably in the infirmary now, after regrowing most of the bones in his arms and left leg last night," Poppy said.

After his initial interest in Poppy's report, Severus tuned out again; having already heard a more detailed report on Higgs from her earlier in the day. His Snake would be fine, but news had already made it around Slytherin that the boy was being benched for the rest of the season.

That was the official reason, but the very carefully guarded truth was that Higgs had refused to continue on as Seeker after what had happened.

"I don't want to ever go through that again," a very tired and pained Higgs had told him late the previous night. His Snake had been white faced as he had lain in the infirmary bed, barely conscious with the mixture of pain killers and skele-gro within his system.

Severus hadn't been surprised to hear whispers around his house that Warrington was bucking for the Seeker position, but he already knew he would be turning him down. Not only did the boy have no experience, but he was also on academic probation.

Experience, of course, was only part of the problem. Of the upper years, Severus well knew, there were no other options for Seeker (he had, after all, attended each and every one of the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts).

"Wh-Wh-What a-a-about Draco Malfoy, S-S-S-S-Severus?" Quirrell's trembling voice brought him out of his musings with a start.

"What about him?" He sneered in response.

If Quirrell was even _thinking_ of suggesting that Draco should be _Seeker_ —his thoughts were cut off once more as Minerva's voice cut through the group.

"If we're going to start suggesting the impossible, why not Harry Potter? Merlin knows I heard enough of how he caught Longbottom's Remembrall after a fifty foot dive."

Severus' eyes narrowed at the disdain he heard in her voice. Clearly his conversation with the Gryffindor head of house was going to have to occur sooner as opposed to later.

Conversation erupted from the other staff members around them over seekers and school rules and who had the best chances at winning the house cup that year. Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, slowly counting to ten in his head as he did. His co-workers were idiots.

"SILENCE!" Dumbledore's voice boomed out in the midst just as Severus reached nine. The conversations immediately stilled around him, but he took another moment before looking back up.

Dumbledore's eyes were blazing with the sort of fire that one didn't normally see from the doddering old headmaster facade he typically presented to the public.

"I would like to remind everyone present that the decision for who shall be the next Slytherin Seeker is entirely up to the _Slytherin_ head of house. Severus, have you made any decision yet?" Dumbledore's calm blue eyes flicked to him.

"No final decision has been made, Headmaster," Severus answered curtly.

"Then I suggest we close this discussion and move onto more pertinent matters. Any questions?"

Everyone present wisely kept their mouths shut.

"Good." Abruptly Dumbledore smiled and Severus watched in some amusement as the room around him relaxed. "Now, does anyone have any requests for foods to be served at the Christmas feast? Might I remind everyone that you must actually be planning to _be here that day_ for your suggestion to become effective?"

. . .

"Severus, a word?" Dumbledore called out as the meeting finally broke some interminable time later.

Everyone around him wisely moved their conversations elsewhere and a surprisingly short time later, Severus found himself alone with the headmaster.

"I was thinking that under the circumstances, should you want to appoint a first year to the Seeker position, the rules could be bent a bit," Dumbledore said with a benevolent smile.

Severus was a bit stunned until he remembered what Minerva had said about Harry Potter's flying abilities.

"Any first year? Or just one in particular?" He asked, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny.

"Now Severus, don't look at me like that," Dumbledore replied, the twinkle in his eyes diminishing a bit. "I've heard reports out of your very own mouth about how fine a flyer Draco is."

"Draco is an excellent flyer, but he is not mature enough to be given the responsibility," Severus countered. "But that's not who we're talking about, is it?"

Dumbledore leaned back against his desk and peered at Severus over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "And who might that be, Severus?"

Severus ignored the urge to roll his eyes at the man's playacting.

" _Potter_."

"Oh, is he a good flyer?"

Severus scowled darkly and crossed his arms. He didn't have time for this. "Yes," he gritted out.

"Then what's the difficulty? Look Severus, why don't you _ask_ the boy whether he even _wants_ to do it before getting your robes in a twist?"

"That is entirely beside the point, Headmaster," Severus seethed.

"And what is the point?"

"The point is that someone hexed Higgs' broom, taking him out of the Quidditch season for good. The point is that there is someone that we _both_ have suspicions about, but for whom nothing is being done about. The point is that you don't seem to care whether Harry lives or dies, as long as he's around to fit into your _plans_." Severus stopped and panted, feeling his magic bubbling up very close to the surface. He needed to get out of there.

"I have a class to prepare for," he growled, turning on his heel and billowing out the door.

. . .

 _Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts awoke to find itself covered in several feet of snow._

Not only could Harry feel the cold in his bones, but he could also feel it in the stump of his leg, which had started giving him phantom pains. Although the Slytherin common room was fairly warm from the heat of the multiple roaring fireplaces, the hallways were drafty, and the dungeons were miserable.

Harry was particularly thankful to Snape for spelling warming charms into all of their bedclothes. Plus, after seeing how much the cold was affecting him, Snape also charmed Harry's robes and cloak with the same spell.

Still though, Harry ached at the end of the each day; particularly his hand and arm where his crutch rested, and at the end of his stump, where it stood on his magical prosthetic. Padding could only do so much.

In addition, he had been getting headaches, which he privately attributed to his eye, even though he was following the instructions for usage. Those pains he kept completely to himself; afraid of what Snape might do if he were to find out. Would he make him stop wearing it? He didn't know and he wasn't willing to find out.

He wouldn't have said anything about any of his pain if it hadn't been for Teddy's sharp eyes. His friend had noticed that his limp was much worse in the mornings and the evenings; something that even Harry hadn't been aware of. Instead of saying anything to him, Teddy had simply adjusted his gait, and started finding routes through the castle with fewer steps and somewhat warmer halls.

However, the proof of the situation was finally revealed one evening just before Christmas break, when Harry pulled back his duvet to find a vial of pain relieving ointment hidden just below his pillow. On it had been a note. Harry had recognized his head of house's spidery scrawl immediately:

 _Harry –_

 _You certainly have an intelligent friend in Mr. Nott. He, unlike you, was willing to tell me of the pain with which you so valiantly have been trying to mask each day. For some reason I mistakenly had believed that you would come to me if you were in need, especially given our rapport of late. Clearly I was wrong and I promise I shall watch you more carefully in the future._

 _Do not be too hard on him. There is no reason for you to suffer needlessly._

 _Severus Snape_

Harry's first instinct had been anger, but as he had read the letter over (and over) again, that feeling had faded into shame, and then finally into some sort of embarrassed thankfulness—especially after he tried the ointment.

Still though, the headaches had remained; except in Quirrell's class, where they were closer to migraines.

. . .

Severus was more than a little annoyed with Flint. Someone—he strongly suspected Dumbledore, the blasted old meddler—had let it leak that Harry was a very good flyer, and now Flint refused to quit pestering the two of them about letting him be Seeker for the Slytherin team.

He was pleased that Harry had come to him immediately about it, but wished he could do more to settle the problem for him. He was worried enough for his young Snake's continued academic progression, but it was also clear that the boy would greatly enjoy being Seeker. Of course, there was also the very significant concern regarding the identity of the mystery curser, and if by some great chance he did allow Harry to play, then it would only be after increasing the wards tenfold.

In the meantime, he had told Flint to keep looking for replacements until January, and then—and only then, provided that Flint kept up his side of the bargain—would he allow Harry to play if no other alternatives could be found. After all, it wasn't as though the boy didn't have enough going on already.

In addition, he had finally had that talk with Minerva, and though things hadn't gone as smoothly as he would have liked, at least the woman had agreed to temper her behaviour towards the boy a bit more than previously, and from Harry and Teddy's reports, she was.

. . .

Finally, in the last Transfiguration class before the break, Harry found himself paying even less attention than usual. His head had been pounding all day, and now the pain had reached a point that left him with barely enough energy to sit upright, let alone follow anything that McGonagall was saying.

If he had been in Potions, he knew that Snape would have noticed the problem immediately and likely sent him to bed, but McGonagall was a different sort. He figured that if he were absent, she'd just use it as an opportunity to take points, and what with his continued "feud" with Weasley, he really couldn't afford to lose any more. Despite his rocky start, he had found himself acclimating to his position as a Slytherin, and now liked his house.

 _Just one more hour, just one more hour_ , he chanted in his mind, idly drawing his uninked quill across the top of his desk. The room was unusually hot, nearly stifling in fact, and it was not helping his resolve to stay awake. The back half of the class was mostly asleep already, but he knew she'd get onto him if he tried the same thing.

For a moment, he was annoyed with McGonagall's biased treatment of him, but then the feeling passed. At least she wasn't actively trying to hurt him.

 _She just requires that I be perfect,_ he snorted to himself. The sensation hurt his throat and he made a mental note not to do it again.

Teddy abruptly shoved an elbow none too gently into his side, and he immediately straightened, looking up into McGonagall's angry visage.

"Mr. _Potter_ ," she said, drawing out the word as though it pained her. "Exactly what do you think you are doing?"

"Pardon?" He asked, rubbing at his sweating forehead with the back of his hand. If only it weren't so hot in here!

"The _desk_ , Mr. Potter," she clarified, her eyes flaring dangerously.

Cautiously he glanced down and to his mortification saw that the lines he had been doodling were now smoking in the wooden top of his desk. He caught sight of the few students still awake smiling and peering over at him in curiosity. Gritting his teeth, he flushed in embarrassment and tried to wave the smoke away with his hand.

Looking back up, he saw McGonagall's lips moving and he focused in just enough to see that she was still talking to him.

" . . . Are so bored, Mr. _Potter_ , that you have resorted to _defacing_ school property in _my_ classroom, then I suggest you _leave_."

 _Finally_ , he thought with a mental huff.

He made a show of it though, shoving his parchment and quills into his bag with an unhappy expression. He stood up and nearly fell over, barely catching himself on his now smoke free desk. His head was swimming, and this time he could barely understand McGonagall's words as she spoke to him about respect and _points_. In fact, he didn't even wait for her to finish speaking, but took off for the door just as soon as he could walk without keeling over. His whole body ached and belatedly he realised that the heat he was feeling was coming from his own body.

Adjusting his bag once he was free of the classroom, he leaned his head back against the blessedly cool stone of the corridor wall and took a few unsteady breaths in and out.

"I'm not allowed to be sick. I'm not allowed to be sick," he muttered to himself a few times as he tried to make his fever addled brain focus. "I just need to go lie down. Yeah," he nodded uncertainly. "Just tired."

He wished Teddy was there with him as he began the long trek back to their dorm. He barely made it the length of the classroom before the world swam before his eyes again and he was forced to stop and lean against the wall again.

Letting out a low groan, he rubbed at his aching forehead with his hand and tried to push away the darkness that was threatening his consciousness. It never occurred to him that he could go back to his class and ask for help from McGonagall. Even if it had, he would have shoved the thought away. McGonagall would just as likely tell him to suck it up and get on with it—or so he figured.

Moving forwards once more, completely lost in his own thoughts, he never noticed that there was someone in the hallway with him until he felt their hand on his shoulder. Then, even sick and somewhat discombobulated, he still managed to spin around, whip out his wand and pin them to the wall, his reactions a result of long practiced reflex.

"Harry, it's just me!" Hermione had to repeat at least twice before his blurry eyes would focus enough for him to understand.

"Oh," he answered, dropping his wand from her throat and taking an unsteady step backwards, actually having to lean on his crutch to keep himself from falling.

"Harry, you're burning up," she said, stepping closer to him and slowly putting a cool hand up to his forehead. "How do you feel?" Her concerned eyes peered at him worriedly.

"Been better," he slurred, rubbing at his head again.

"Come on, we've got to get you to Madame Pomfrey."

Abruptly his awareness returned full force and he took a wary step backwards away from her.

"No. I'm not going to the infirmary," he answered decisively, shaking his head and immediately regretting the motion as his head swam even more furiously.

"Fine then! Snape then," she argued, bravely stepping towards him once again.

"Why are you here?" He squinted at her suspiciously. Despite their better relationship since the incident with the troll, he was still wary of anyone who wasn't a Slytherin—especially girls.

"Teddy tried to get permission to go after you, but McGonagall wouldn't let him. I don't know why she seems to dislike you so much," Hermione was shaking her head and he wished she would stop. His stomach was starting to feel uneasy, and he _really_ didn't want to throw up in front of her.

"But she let you go, of course she did," Harry said, mostly in a mutter.

"I asked to go to the loo," she answered, a light blush suffusing her cheeks with her admission.

"Right," he answered, suddenly confused. Why was he standing in the hallway? Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere else?

"Let me walk you to Professor Snape's office, please Harry," she implored.

 _Snape's office . . . it seemed as good a place to be as any other,_ were his muddled thoughts.

"Okay," he answered sluggishly, silently accepting Hermione's hand on his arm as they started walking.

. . .

Hermione was very worried about Harry. He had looked sick before leaving Transfiguration and it had blown her mind a bit that McGonagall hadn't seen it. Teachers were supposed to be good. They were supposed to be role models and mentors for their students. They weren't supposed to be examples of bias. Even Snape, for all of his anger towards Gryffindors, still always managed to send them to the infirmary when it was obvious one of his students needed to go.

She'd seen the look on McGonagall's face when Teddy had requested to follow Harry out. She'd only seen her head of house that angry once before, and that had been directly after the troll incident. At the time she had thought it was because they had put themselves in danger, but after today's class, she wasn't as certain anymore.

She kept her hand on Harry's arm the entire way to the dungeons. She could feel the heat coming through his robes and it worried her that his fever was so high. Every so often, he would sway and she would have to tighten her hand to keep him from falling sideways. She had no idea where he would have ended up if she hadn't come out after him. She wasn't entirely certain that he even knew where he was.

That concern was justified as they finally made it down to the dungeons, near to where Snape's office was. Harry suddenly pulled out of her hold and started beating on the wall with his fists.

"Harry?" She asked, forgetting that he couldn't hear her.

"I want out! Let me out!" He yelled.

She tried to grab his arm, but a wall of blue fire threw her backwards onto the floor a few meters down the corridor. Suddenly a tall black shadow draped itself over her and she scrambled to her feet, relieved beyond measure.

"Professor!"

Snape sneered in disdain at her, but she paid no mind to it, or to his imposing figure.

"Please sir! You have to help Harry. He's sick!" She said, not thinking as she grabbed his surprisingly warm hand and pulled him down to where Harry was still ranting at the wall.

"Miss Granger, I insist that you unhand me at once," Snape growled at her as he warily moved to Harry's side.

"Let me out! I don't want to die!" Harry was screaming now, his hand already bruised purple by the time Snape got to his side. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she saw him spell the hallway silent; knowing better than most how much her friend valued his privacy.

Snape didn't talk as he kneeled down beside Harry, his motions swift and fluid despite his great height and heavy teaching robes. She watched with bated breath as a long fingered hand reached out to touch Harry's shoulder, and then she gave a relieved sigh as it was met only with a flinch.

Snape turned Harry to look into his eyes, pulling him away from the wall with far more gentleness than Hermione had ever witnessed from the dour man.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Snape murmured over and over again until finally Harry responded to him. She watched as her friend's knees abruptly buckled, dropping his body neatly into their professor's waiting arms.

"It's so hot," Harry whimpered, before pressing his face into the front of Snape's robes.

"I know," she thought Snape said. Then, to her surprise, she watched as their professor stood back up, Harry's body dangling limply from his arms, his crutch hanging down loosely from her friend's arm.

Snape touched a button on the crutch and suddenly it retracted. Turning back towards her, Snape carried Harry up the hall. Hermione thought he looked a bit like Death carrying a victim, but wisely kept that observation to herself. Still, she thought Snape looked a bit oddly at her as he went by with Harry still carefully held in his arms.

"Well, Miss Granger," she heard him say in a low undertone just as they reached the far end of the corridor. "You certainly are full of surprises. 5 points to Gryffindor."


	15. Christmas

He was burning.

Harry remembered beating his hand against the window, the very cold hard window. He remembered being watched by his seemingly impassive aunt as he screamed for help. He remembered the very moment that the car exploded; the moment that his nerves screamed white blinding agony as he was thrown outwards from the car into the muddy embankment.

He even remembered what it felt like to be half buried in mud, one side frigid and shaking as the other side burned on unmercifully. He remembered smelling his own flesh cook and being too far gone to even be sick. He remembered what it felt like to see darkness at the edge of his consciousness and being unafraid to walk into it, unaware that they would be the last steps he would ever take as a two legged person.

It had taken a very long time for him to find his way back out of the darkness again. When he finally did, it was into a world where time had ceased; where blinking numbers and low lights and hushed voices pervaded his awareness. It was into a world where everything sat at an agonizing level of open nerve endings and burning sensations; his body scraped raw and ragged and burnt.

He remembered what it felt like to wonder if anyone would even know that he had died; if there would be anyone at his funeral, or anyone that would miss him.

He remembered the touch of a cool nurse's hand on his left cheek calming him through one of many panic attacks. He remembered her holding out a pad and asking him if he could write his name, and trying to respond that he couldn't write with his left hand, where was his right hand, why wasn't she on that side!

That had been before his hearing had been affected by the many infections that had slowly eaten their way through what was left of him. He had felt that cool touch on his cheek as she had hushed him gently through his terror, and he remembered wondering if her touch had felt anything like his mother's.

The Dursleys had left him for dead. Petunia had left him, her seven year old nephew, for dead in a burning car that her husband had crashed. Dead, dead, dead.

Then one day, he had opened his eyes and found himself with a visitor; a very strange visitor with a long beard and some sort of purple robe. He hadn't had a visitor in all of the months of his stay, and suddenly there had been this old man staring down at him with a smile; almost as though he looked down on burnt freaks every day and was immune to their horrors. Harry had half expected the man to offer him a lollipop, and had barked with bitter laughter when the man had offered him a lemon drop instead.

He had wanted to forget the Dursleys completely and move on from them silently. He had planned not to ever mention them to another soul; to pretend as though they didn't exist as easily as they had tried to pretend the same about him.

He had tried to, been desperate to do so, but the man hadn't let him.

. . .

Severus Snape worriedly watched his Snake toss and turn on the bed beside him. The boy was drenched in sweat, despite having drunk two vials of Severus' strongest fever reducing potion.

The bed that Harry was in was a mystery, as was the room it was in. When Severus had carried Harry into his quarters, there had been an extra door next to his own bedroom, and inside he had discovered another bed. He knew that the castle was more than just a building, but it still amazed him to find such . . . _sentient_ surprises within her walls.

"You aren't serious," Harry suddenly growled aloud; his eye wide and staring at something—or someone—that wasn't there.

"Harry," Severus tried to soothe, reaching out and catching hold of the boy's hands.

"You _bastard!"_ Harry screamed as he pulled against Severus' hold on him.

Harry was pulling against his arms—well, rather he was throwing himself against them—seemingly desperate to get at whatever horror his hallucination told him was in the room with him.

In an effort to get a better hold on the boy, Severus moved up onto the bed beside Harry and attempted to pull him into the side of his body.

 _For safekeeping,_ he thought with no small amount of bitter amusement.

Unfortunately, Harry was having none of it; still trying to fight off his imagined demons with a force seemingly greater than his size would indicate possible.

"Harry, what in Merlin's name!" Severus huffed, trying to catch his eye.

Harry's head abruptly swung backwards into his chest, and Severus found himself looking straight down into upside down green orbs. In such an altered state, it was easy to see a difference between the real eye and the magical one. Harry's real eye was bloodshot and glassy eyed, while the other one only managed to be bloodshot. Likewise, as Severus looked more closely, he could see that there was a difference in the shades of green between them; a difference that typically wasn't obvious at first glance.

"Anyone . . ." Harry was whispering in a strange voice, and Snape had to drop his head closer to hear.

"Please help me. Please," Harry begged, his voice cracking on the last word.

"Harry," Severus started to say, but the rest of his words died on his tongue as Harry reached up and caught his face with one dangerously warm hand.

"I never thought I could hate like this. Never thought . . ." Harry trailed off with a broken laugh that chilled Severus to the core, despite the heat radiating from the boy. "Please," the Harry said, focusing that green eye on Severus' gaze with a sudden knife sharp level of clarity.

"Please, _see_ ," Harry begged, that brief period of focus beginning to fade.

Suddenly, Severus felt his consciousness being invaded and realised with a start that Harry was legilimizing him! He tried to push back, trying to keep his backwards force to a minimum in order not to hurt his Snake, but just as his mind teetered on the edge of expelling Harry's own, something shifted and suddenly everything changed.

No longer was Harry _pushing_ into his mind, but rather he was now _pulling_ Severus into his own! Severus doubted that the boy was even aware of what he was doing. He was also quite certain that Harry didn't know where he was, and possibly not whom he was with.

That, and a very real desire to help Harry through his current dilemma, kept Severus from taking control of his mind back once again. Harry might have had pure magical _force_ on his side, but Severus knew the intricacies of how such force _worked_ , and if he had wanted to, he could have removed his mind from Harry's hold on it.

Once he made his decision not to fight, his final progress into Harry's mind was quick. All too soon, Severus found himself sitting across a muggle hospital bed from none other than Albus Dumbledore. In the bed lay a much younger, much smaller Harry. Covering Harry's right side was a large mass of gauze; underneath which Severus could see pained flesh that was in various levels of healing.

The boy was thin; his flesh pulled tightly across his thin bones, and Severus had no doubt that had his chest been uncovered, every rib likely would have been visible. He didn't have a great deal of experience with burn victims—nor did he like thinking of his Snake as a _victim_ , despite the circumstances—but he had a feeling that the child's current emaciation was not entirely a result of his injuries.

Severus' attention was drawn back to Dumbledore and his eyes narrowed in distaste at the unaffected facade that the old man was currently sporting in the face of such painful injuries.

"I won't," Harry said in a gravelly voice, shaking his head emphatically as Dumbledore continued to smile down at him.

"My dear boy, they are your family. You belong with _them_ ," the old man said, even daring to reach his hand out to pat Harry on the arm. Severus raised an eyebrow as the much younger Harry pulled himself away out of reach.

"They left me to _die_ , you shit eating bastard," Harry growled back, doing a passable imitation of Severus on one of his worse days.

Severus raised his eyebrows in surprise. As of yet, he had still been unable to get Harry to talk about the cause behind his injuries (regardless of a few suspicions).

"An accident, I feel certain. Why, your aunt adored your mother," Dumbledore replied in a demeaning, offhand voice.

The younger Harry's eyes flashed with some of the anger that Severus had seen while Harry had been hallucinating.

"You _aren't_ listening to me," the younger Harry's breath was picking up, and Severus could hear a worrisome wheeze underlying the sound.

"I'm sorry if you feel that way," Dumbledore answered, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

 _What in Merlin's name does he think he's achieving by treating Harry this way?_ Severus wondered with no small amount of disbelief.

The younger Harry in front of him was raw, both physically and emotionally. Pain was radiating from his body, as well as anger. In fact, Severus realised, the air was charged with unreleased magical power, and Severus shifted uneasily in his uncomfortable hospital chair. This might only be a memory, but he didn't relish the idea of seeing his Snake be hurt by an uncaring Dumbledore.

A slight breeze moved past Severus' face as the younger Harry's fury continued to increase.

Finally, they arrived at the crux of the situation.

"This conversation is over. You will be sent to your aunt's house once you are released," Dumbledore moved to stand. A clatter and a splash and suddenly there was a bright yellow pitcher flying unaided across the room into Dumbledore's face.

Severus caught a brief look of something that resembled . . . _satisfaction?_ in Dumbledore's eyes and bit back a curse.

The water pitcher was only the beginning of Harry's anger. Suddenly the beeping of the monitors surrounding them increased in tempo and volume, just as random items began to pick themselves up and hurl into Dumbledore's person. Most of the items bounced off uselessly, but a few got through the old man's defences; in one situation, a syringe sliced a line across one cheek, and then a minute later, Severus watched in fascination as an IV stand flew into his face, breaking his nose with an audible _crack_.

"Get _OUT!"_ Harry screamed; his eye alight with livid fury.

Without warning, blue fire began streaming out of his hands towards Dumbledore, literally propelling him backwards out the door. Only when the old man was gone did Harry collapse back down onto his pillows. The little boy was white faced and trembling violently.

Before the memory faded, Severus heard a small sob, and then there was only blankness.

. . .

It was another day before Harry's fever broke. Severus spent most of that time sitting on the bed beside him, only leaving to sleep and eat when Poppy made him. This was _his_ Snake.

He was somewhat relieved that Teddy had agreed to go home for the holidays, or else the boy would have likely been underfoot as well. He only hoped that Nott Sr. stayed in Azkaban until the end of break. Merlin only knew what would happen otherwise. There was no way the older man could have missed hearing that his son was best friends with Harry Potter.

 _Yet another situation that will require attention sooner than later,_ he sighed.

"Hey," a hoarse voice broke through his musings and Severus tried not to jerk against the small body currently using him as a pillow.

He turned the boy's face towards his and carefully slid his glasses on. "Harry?" He asked tentatively.

"Where—?" Harry tried to ask, breaking off into a coughing fit. Severus quickly summoned a glass of water and held it while his Snake drank from it.

"You took ill during your Transfiguration class. Do you remember?" He asked as his first year slowly sipped the water.

"I . . . I made the desk smoke," Harry answered in a halting voice. "Where are we?" He added, looking around in carefully veiled confusion.

"The castle decided to add a room onto my quarters," Severus explained. He smirked lightly at the flabbergasted expression on Harry's face. "Trust me; I completely understand your reaction."

"Hogwarts can just _do_ that?" All pretences of remaining calm had left the boy's face.

"So it would seem," Severus answered, giving a small real smile this time. "I think I should inform you that it is Christmas."

Harry blinked and stiffened slightly in response. "Oh?" He asked guardedly, his mask carefully back in place after the brief period of openness.

"If you would care to, I think you are stable enough to open your presents—provided you stay in bed."

"Presents?" Harry's face had scrunched in wary disbelief.

"That is typically how one spends Christmas," Severus reminded him gently. He had no illusions about how his Snake had spent past Christmases. He doubted the boy had ever received very much for the holiday.

"Presents?" Harry repeated in a soft voice, still apparently stuck on the idea of having _received_ anything at all.

"Here," Severus answered, putting a hand on Harry's head and turning him in the direction of the small pile of gifts sitting on the chair beside the bed.

"Whose are those?" Harry whispered, not moving except to look back at him.

" _Accio_ Harry's presents," Severus answered instead. The small pile flew the short distance through the air and landed in both of their laps.

Harry didn't move. He could see the brightly wrapped gifts clearly enough, but it wouldn't be the first time that someone had given him something only to take it back.

 _But this is Severus,_ his mind whispered hopefully.

Severus tapped the label of the nearest present and pulled it close enough for Harry to read.

"To Harry – From Teddy," it said in Teddy's precisely blocked script.

"It's for me?" Harry squeaked, his green eyes glancing back at Severus for confirmation.

"Open it," Severus suggested, his throat having to work harder than usual to make it past the sudden blockage that had formed there.

With trembling fingers, Harry opened the gift slowly, taking great care not to tear the paper. When it was folded off to the side, he was left with a book in his hands.

" _A History of Magical People and Their Body Parts,"_ he read the title aloud, giving a nervous, almost hysterical giggle at the end. Opening the book, he realised there was a note inscribed on the inside, and he read it aloud as well, not caring that Severus was listening.

"Dear Harry, I'm glad Professor Snape sent me an owl letting me know you're safe with him. I was really worried about you when McGonagall kicked you out, and if Hermione hadn't gone after you, I would have, to hell with the points. I tried to get her to let me go and check on you, but she wouldn't let me. She's a right old bat. I hope someone sticks something nasty in her tea. Hope you like the book. It's a history of magical prosthetics and their evolution over the past 500 years."

"Wow," Harry whispered. He remembered Hermione's worried face staring down at him—why exactly had it been _down?_ —but no definite memory of what had happened after he had left Transfiguration.

"Sounds as though it will be an interesting read," Severus remarked after Harry turned back to look at him.

"Would you like to read it?" Harry asked, trying to push the book towards him.

"Perhaps later, after you have already perused it at some length," Severus answered, raising a hand to push the book back into Harry's overfilled lap. He didn't bother to explain that he had been the one to give the suggestion to Teddy to begin with. He rather hoped that the other boy didn't mention it either.

"Should—Should I open the other ones?" Was Harry's next hesitantly spoken question.

"Please do," Severus answered with an encouraging smile.

The next one he opened was from Hermione. Once again, he opened the paper carefully and folded it, placing it on top of the other one. She had given him a large box of Chocolate Frogs, and he shyly grinned up at Severus, already imagining his professor's response to the large case of sweets.

"I do not have to tell you that you are not to eat any more than two of those a day, yes?" Severus warned, raising an eyebrow and trying to look stern.

"Aye aye," Harry answered with a small smile, flipping off a mock salute.

"Brat," Severus said, with a fond grin.

Harry blushed and ducked his head back down towards the remaining presents. The next one he unwrapped was from Severus, and he opened it just as carefully as the others. Unsurprisingly, it was a book, and he read the cover haltingly.

" _Occlumency for Beginners_?" He questioned softly, squinting at the unfamiliar word. "Did I say that right?"

"You did very well," Severus answered with an affirming nod. "Occlumency is a branch of mind magic that I think you would do well to learn."

"All right," Harry said with a trusting look in his eyes.

The next parcel was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. It had no note on the outside other than his name, but a letter fell out when he finally managed to get it open. He unrolled it and read silently for a few moments before breaking out in a large grin.

"It's from Moody!" He said, looking uncharacteristically happy. He hadn't known whether the retired auror would remember him for the holidays, but he was very pleased to find out that he had.

"Oh rapture," Severus muttered under his breath when Harry turned back towards the letter.

"He says that he wanted to be here, but can't make it until the New Year," Harry babbled on happily, not caring if his professor looked less than enthused at the news. If truth be told, he kind of liked how they sniped at each other over his well being. He imagined it was a bit like having parents with wildly differing opinions watching out for him.

"He got me a present too," Harry added in a surprised voice after finishing the letter. Just knowing he had been remembered would have been a nice enough present.

"Well, open it," Severus prompted when he regained the boy's attention.

Harry pulled the plain square box towards himself and did as his professor had instructed. Inside the box was a pair of black gloves, which Severus explained were made out of dragon hide. Harry got a shock as he pulled on the right one. He'd already been wondering whether he could lop off the two unnecessary fingers like he did with his regular cloth gloves, but didn't know how well that would work with dragon hide.

Now however, it seemed that those worries were for naught.

Where the two empty fingers should have been were instead two fully filled glove covered digits. Blinking in surprise, he pulled the glove off and looked at his three fingered hand with consternation. He put the glove back on and stared dumbfounded at the two fingers that the glove had added. He flexed his right hand and the two fingers moved with the rest of his fingers.

"Magical prosthetics," Harry breathed, glancing back at Severus for confirmation.

"So it would seem," Severus answered, eyeing the gloves with a grudging appreciation. _Damn it,_ he thought with annoyance. _I'm going to have to write another letter of thanks to the old bastard._

After that surprising gift, the last present in his pile almost seemed blasé—except for the fact that it was nothing of the sort. It was an unusually light parcel, and Harry opened it with a strange feeling. He couldn't remember what it had felt like to have all of his fingers, but he liked the extra dexterity the glove added to his hands.

 _Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to_ his lap _where it lay in gleaming folds._

Harry blinked down in open mouthed surprise. His lap was gone!

"Severus?" He squeaked, turning back to his professor nervously.

He watched as Severus opened his mouth and closed it a few times before finally managing to speak. He couldn't hear the hoarseness of the man's voice, but he could tell that the rate of speech was much slower than usual.

"That's an invisibility cloak. I believe your father had one very similar," Severus said, looking decidedly ill for the admission.

Harry pushed the cloak off of his lap and saw with relief that his lap reappeared. As he moved the silvery cloth, he felt something rustle against his leg and grabbed at the spot, pulling a note out of the bedclothes partially wrapped around them both.

 _Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:_

 _Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._

 _A Very Merry Christmas to you._

It was unsigned. Somewhat unnerved, Harry turned back to his professor with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"Who's it from? Do you know?"

Severus swallowed once before answering, his Adam's apple bobbing conspicuously as he did. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, that is Dumbledore's handwriting."

Harry instantly felt sick to his stomach.

"Why," he swallowed, trying to work past the increasing dryness in his throat. "Why would he give me this? Why would he pretend that he wanted me to have a good Christmas?" Harry felt his fists clench in response to the sudden tension he could feel riding through his body. "Why would my father leave this with him? Didn't he know better? Didn't he _know!"_ He hissed, suddenly having to blink hard against the welling up of emotion he felt in his left eye.

Severus didn't have to ask for clarification about what his Snake meant. The memory of the encounter between Dumbledore and the much younger Harry was embedded very fully in his mind.

"Your father was a Gryffindor and from a very old and well to do Pureblood family," Severus answered slowly, knowing he wouldn't have to explain much beyond that to his student. Harry was a Slytherin and therefore knew how to understand what he was not saying.

"Never had to try. Never had to think," Harry finished for him, growling bitterly before suddenly wrapping his hand around Severus' conveniently placed arm. He slumped backwards into Severus' chest and turned his face upwards.

"I don't suppose I can just send the cloak back with a message to sod off, right?"

Severus smiled his own small bitter grin. "An invisibility cloak is a very useful tool to have at your disposal," he answered instead.

Harry sighed tiredly. He was worn out. His joints still ached from the fever that had raged in his body for the past few days. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to remember. Even with this last unpleasant surprise, this was still the best Christmas he'd ever experienced.

"Can we just sit for a bit? I don't—," he broke off, swallowing hard.

"Shh, you don't need to explain," Severus hushed him, draping a long arm around his thin shoulders and squeezing gently. "Perhaps a nap and then maybe we'll try some soft food?"

"Christmas applesauce," Harry snorted, wiping a quick hand under his glasses.

"Mashed potatoes count as soft food as well," Severus added, running a long fingered hand through his littlest Snake's wild hair.

"Yeah," Harry added softly, burying his face in Severus' chest.


	16. Reparations

Minerva McGonagall was enjoying a cup of tea a couple of mornings after Christmas when suddenly her floo roared to life. Startled, she looked up just as it glowed green for a moment and then spat out a scroll onto her floor before fading down to nothing again.

With a flick of her wand, she summoned the scroll to her hand and unrolled it.

' _Minerva,'_ it read in Severus Snape's spidery script, causing her eyes to narrow suspiciously.

"Why is that old bat _writing_ to me?" She muttered.

' _Before this year, I would have considered our working relationship to be more than acceptable, minus a few minor incidents scattered throughout. However, with your actions as of late, especially toward one of my snakes in particular, it is clear that our previous relationship can now be considered null and void.'_

Minerva's lips pursed irritably at her colleague's overly dramatic prose. "You should have been a playwright, _Severus,"_ she said to herself with a disdainful sniff.

' _I find it ironic that for all of your so-called Gryffindor virtues, you were still unable to treat one of my snakes with the respect and concern he deserved. Really Minerva, how difficult would it have been to send Mr. Potter to the infirmary when it was obvious he was in need of healing?'_

' _By the time he found his way into my presence, the boy was running a fever of nearly 40 degrees.'_

Minerva's eyebrows raised in surprise.

' _Yes, he was very fortunate this time. Another few hours, and he would have succumbed to magical exhaustion. As it is, he will simply be required to remain under near constant supervision for the rest of the holiday break, in order to stave off any other magical illnesses that may choose to attack his body in its weakened state.'_

' _Furthermore, if the tables had been turned, and I had found myself in your shoes, I can tell you that I at least would not have gone so far as to do something to_ _compromise_ _his safety. The wellbeing of every child is important, regardless of how I feel for them personally.'_

"Perhaps the _physical_ wellbeing, Severus, but if the same were true for _emotional,_ the children wouldn't cry at the sight of your _shadow_ ," Minerva harrumphed, trying to ignore the very real feeling of guilt blossoming in her chest at her colleague's words.

' _I cannot imagine why I am telling you this, since you have already proven your lack of concern for him. In fact, I consider your actions of late to be morally reprehensible, as does my barrister. Perhaps you remember him? His name is Quinton Oliphant.'_

Oh, Minerva remembered Quinton quite well. She still blamed their _tryst_ on a failure in judgment on her part. He had been young, freshly graduated from Hogwarts (Ravenclaw), and she had been just a few months short of thirty-five. In terms of wizarding longevity, the age difference was barely noticeable.

Their relationship had only lasted six months. It hadn't been long before Quinton had found an apprenticeship in the law department of the Ministry, and she'd had her hands full with other students like _Sirius Black_ and _James Potter._

' _Oliphant has requested a meeting with you and Dumbledore at the nearest possible date. He has granted my wish to be present, so I will see you there. Expect his owl. Good day Minerva. I hope you can provide a legitimate excuse for your despicable behaviour.'_

She could almost imagine his sneer at the end of the letter, and she already knew she would not enjoy their next meeting.

Suddenly her floo flared again, and a second later, Dumbledore's wizened visage was staring up at her from amidst the flames.

"Minerva, might I have a word with you? I just received the most interesting owl from a Mr. Quinton Oliphant . . ."

She sighed and put her tea aside.

. . .

Severus had sent his missive through the floo system instead of submitting the already bedraggled owls to further abuse from the frigid conditions outside. Scotland's weather was not designed to easily accommodate owl post.

He had . . . _forced_ himself to hold back from writing the true extent of his anger in the letter. Not only had Quinton suggested he keep things civil between the two of them—especially in the written form—but Severus himself had felt that a face to face . . . _confrontation . . ._ would be much more satisfying, at least for him.

"Severus?" Harry's hesitant and weakened voice filtered into his awareness.

"Harry? What on earth are you doing up?" Severus asked; walking quickly to the boy's side and manoeuvring him back into bed easily. He took care not to get his legs tangled in Harry's crutches, noting that the child had chosen to leave off his prosthetic leg. It wouldn't do for them both to fall.

"I had a question," an even weaker sounding Harry answered him; the short trip having clearly tired him greatly.

"And did you bother calling for me?" Severus asked; perching at the edge of the bed as he silently fussed over the bedclothes surrounding his Snake's small body.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be able to hear me," Harry admitted softly.

Severus mentally made the decision to draw a ward around the edge of the bed that would alert him should the boy get up again.

"Well, you have my attention now. What is your question?"

"I was reading in the books I got for Christmas," Harry answered, grappling with the texts he had hidden underneath the covers on the opposite side of the full sized bed.

Severus leaned over and easily untangled the two books from the sheets and pulled them into the light of the bedside lamp.

"In the 'Beginning Occlumency' book, it mentioned that one of the signs of an unsolicited legilimization by an outside party is constant and increasing headaches."

"Oh?" Severus answered mildly, although a warning bell had begun ringing in his mind.

"I—I thought that my headaches were part of my feeling under the weather, but what if they weren't? I've had a lot of time to think in the last couple of days; you know, since you wouldn't let me do anything," Harry shot him a baleful look that Severus only smirked at. "Well, I remembered that I've been having these bad headaches for a while."

"How long precisely is 'a while?'" Severus asked carefully, his entire attention now focused on his Snake's troubled face.

"Since the beginning of school?" Harry squeaked shyly, tightly wrapping his hands in the duvet.

"How bad?"

"Um," Harry answered, clearly uncomfortable with sharing something he likely should have told Severus earlier in the term.

" _Harry_ ," Severus said slowly, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder for emphasis.

He watched as Harry's defiance melted away under his touch and a pale pink shade flush through his cheeks.

"I would have told you, honestly Severus. I do—I do trust you," the boy admitted quietly, his green eyes staring back at Severus with a rare openness in them.

"I know Harry," Severus answered, completely serious as he wrapped his hands around Harry's still twisting ones. "Tell me the severity of your headaches, so I might be able to help. Please."

Swallowing hard at Severus' plea, Harry admitted that some of the headaches had caused nausea and piercing pain in various parts of his cranium.

"Have you ever vomited?" Severus' eye moved over his Snake's overly thin frame with a practised, yet worried air.

"No . . ." Harry said, swallowing again before adding, "But sometimes I can't eat afterwards."

Severus' eyes narrowed in thoughtfulness.

"Afterwards? There is a specific time that you have been experiencing these headaches?"

Harry nodded, looking frighteningly young and small within the large bed that surrounded him.

"When?"

"During Defence," was Harry's hesitantly spoken response.

"With Quirrell?" Severus asked.

Harry nodded, looking worriedly up at him.

Severus breathed deeply with the new knowledge, more than aware of how perceptive the boy in front of him was.

"Well, then it is rather propitious that you are going to begin learning how to occlude," Severus said at last, giving Harry the slightest of encouraging smiles.

Some of the fear drained from the boy's face as he looked at him, and Severus nodded. "Yes, Harry. You are not alone. Not this time."

. . .

"Thank you for agreeing to have this meeting so soon," Quinton Oliphant said, looking back at Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore from where they sat across from him. Severus was to his right, his mouth upturned in the smallest of sneers as he stared back at the other two.

"Of course of course," Dumbledore answered amicably, sucking on his third lemon drop since his arrival, less than ten minutes ago.

Quinton had a feeling that Dumbledore's brightly shining teeth were nothing more than a mere glamour, and he wondered, not for the first time, if the lemon drops were simply a cover for something more outrageous.

"I'm sure we can make this quick and relatively painless, and then return you to your regular schedule. I do hate to remove people from their holidays, particularly professors," Quinton responded with a smile.

"Less talk, Qui- _Mr. Oliphant._ More point _,"_ Minerva interjected, giving a very passable sneer of her own.

"Of course, Minerva," Quinton answered, having no problem with calling her by her given name. After all, they had once been close—very close. "I have asked you here to discuss one of Severus Snape's students."

He ignored her less than subtle eye roll and continued on. "In refusing to _address_ Mr. Potter's clearly ill physical state, both through your actions towards him in class—as well as not letting anyone check up on him after you removed him—you have caused him to be placed in unnecessary risk; potentially causing him not only harm to his person, but also to his magical core."

Minerva pursed her lips tightly and narrowed her eyes at him, but did not deign to say anything.

"And your point, Quinton?" There was Dumbledore, pretending that he was still the schoolboy he had been those many years before.

"On the behalf of my client, Professor Snape, we are asking that reparations be made," Quinton replied easily.

"Reparations?" Minerva spluttered, looking uncharacteristically out of control.

"As you know, during the school year, a head of house acts in _loco parentis_ ; that is, in the place of the parent. I'm sure you know this, Minerva, Headmaster," he nodded in their direction again. "Not only have you placed one of your own students in harm's way, but under this standard of care, you have also placed Professor Snape's own _child_ in harm's way. Reparations are required to make this correct, should you want to keep this from going out to the public," he answered, restraining himself from smiling.

In this sense, he and Severus got along perfectly.

"What sorts of reparations?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes suddenly ceasing their previous bright foolishness.

"A formal apology to both Mr. Potter and his class, a discussion with Mr. Potter with Professor Snape present, a signed promise of intent not to harm, a refresher course on childhood illnesses, and increased supervision for the rest of the term," Quinton reeled off, relishing the expressions in the two adults opposite him.

"And Mr. Potter's class?" Dumbledore asked in a mild voice at the end of his recitation. "Is that truly necessary?"

" _Yes_ ," Severus answered, interjecting for the first time. Privately, Quinton was impressed that the man had managed to keep his silence for that long.

"Do you take me for some kind of fool?" Minerva hissed, leaning forwards with barely hidden fury.

 _You should have seen Severus' initial list,_ Quinton thought with mild irritation; _forced resignation being the first of many requirements._ He had balked at that. She would not be the first teacher to miss a fever, although she should have known better—especially with one of Severus' students.

_Especially with Harry Potter as one of those students._

"I do not," Quinton answered after a moment's silence. "But I do think our suggestions are very reasonable, especially considering the student in question."

 _As if you did not expect us to bring up Potter's status in the wizarding world._ It was bad enough a situation as it was, but considering that this was the Boy-Who-Lived made it all the worse. Yes, it would be very unfortunate press indeed for the school of Hogwarts to be the thing that caused the child to suddenly be the Boy-Who-Died-Through-Unnecessary-Negligence. Very unfortunate indeed.

"If you'll allow us to discuss this then, Quinton?" Dumbledore asked, standing up and motioning Minerva to the floo with a significant glance.

"Of course," Quinton answered graciously, standing up as well.

He noticed that Severus did not stand, choosing instead to sit and stare back towards his co-workers with a frightening glare that Quinton was very glad not to be at the receiving end of.

"I would ask that you give us your decision by the beginning of term?" Quinton called out just as Dumbledore threw his pinch of floo powder into the grating.

"As you wish," Dumbledore said, stepping forwards into the green flames after a quietly voiced, "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office!"

"Minerva," Quinton added, nodding his head pleasantly at the older woman.

She only narrowed her eyes at him, her face pinched as though she had bitten into a lemon. Then she too was gone and he was left alone with Severus.

"Have you started the paperwork?" Severus asked, changing his glare to something less painful looking as he gazed up at Quinton.

"I have," Quinton answered gravely. "But you might prepare the potion nonetheless. I don't expect this to be an easy fight."

"And when are they ever?" Severus asked; raising an eyebrow as he finally deigned to stand.

"Certainly not the interesting ones," Quinton answered softly.

Severus' lips quirked briefly at that. "I might add," Severus continued after a second, "Should you need an auror's presence, Moody will do."

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Quinton responded with, "Indeed? My, but times have changed."

"Do not ask," Severus warned.

"I will try and restrain myself," Quinton said. "And my daughter? She's well?"

"She is performing quite adequately in her classes this term," Severus said, giving him a nod.

Quinton was impressed. For Severus, that was high praise indeed.

"And Harry? Is he better?" Quinton asked.

"Moody is with him now," Severus answered, not going into detail.

"You left him alone in your quarters!" Quinton was very surprised.

His eyes narrowing, Severus said, "Don't remind me. I believe I was just leaving to do something about that, in fact."

"Please then," Quinton said, shooing him towards the floo.

. . .

Harry had awoken with the feeling that something was different in the air around him. Perhaps it was a smell or a vibration along the wall, but something was definitely off from before.

A moment later, he learned why. Instead of the expected figure of his professor coming into the room, he looked up at saw Moody. Instantly a bout of shyness overcame him and he slunk down in his covers a bit.

Moody thankfully did not speak to him until he was close enough for Harry to see, and even then he waited until sitting down on the side of the bed next to him before opening his mouth.

"Yeh feelin' better?" Moody asked, looking closely into his eyes as though trying to look for infirmity.

"Mostly," Harry answered, shifting back up again.

"Did yeh get my present?"

Harry's cheeks blossomed with warmth but he managed to stutter out a quiet thanks nonetheless.

"Thought yeh might find it a bit useful," was Moody's nonchalant answer.

"They're brilliant," Harry added in a breathy voice. He glanced upwards and saw Moody give him a rough smile, and relaxed at the sight.

"Good," Moody said.

Their conversation had moved from there into discussion of what else Harry had gotten for Christmas, and then Moody had regaled him with a few tales of some of his past unfortunate presents, intentional and not.

"I mean, who the bloody hell needs a teapot shaped and enchanted to move like a dragon?" Moody was saying when something flickered green out in the main room of Snape's quarters.

"Is that?" Harry pointed out in that direction.

"Likely enough," Moody grunted. "Anyway, as I was saying, the damn thing even had wings. It'd fly away anytime I wanted to use it, and then it'd go and dump hot tea on my head when it was unhappy—which was most of the time, I'd say," Moody added with a frown.

Harry felt something touch his leg, drawing his attention away from Moody to the sudden figure of Severus. "Enjoying yourselves?"

Harry broke into a smile, surprising himself as well as the other two men quietly watching him. "Yes sir," he managed to say, glad when Moody began harping on Severus to get him some decorations for his drab room.

"Take it up with Hogwarts," Snape snapped, speaking almost too fast for Harry to follow. "She provided it, after all."

"Well, why should Hogwarts have to do all the work?" Moody grumped, glaring back at Severus. "She's given you the parchment, now you supply the paints."

"As though I should take decorating advice from a man who only changes his robes twice a month," Severus sneered back.

Harry snickered and leaned back against his pillows comfortably. He watched as the argument continued to spiral out of control, getting more and more ludicrous as it did, until finally his eyelids began drifting shut of their own accord.

He registered Severus' warm hand on his forehead and he pulled his eyelids open slowly. "Harry?"

"Good night child," slightly chapped lips touched his forehead and then Harry knew no more.


	17. Muddled Reactions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling vaguely evil with this chapter.

“All right, Snape,” Moody said as they left Harry’s room.  “Out with it.  What are yeh plannin’?” The older man turned gnarled features onto Severus in a way that would be intimidating to anyone else. 

“Now,” Severus answered easily enough as they walked into the sitting area of his quarters.  “Why would you think I’m planning anything?  I’m just a simple professor,” he said with a sarcastic lilt to his tone. 

“Snape, even if I didn’t know yeh, I’d be suspicious,” the other man said, taking a seat before it was offered. 

Frowning at Moody’s egregious lack of manners, Severus did not immediately answer.  It was only after Moody cleared his throat and accused him of “checkin’ out,” did he deign to speak to him again. 

“I hardly consider you a reliable confidante,” was his sneered response. 

 Levelling a weary glare at him, Moody snarled, “Well, I’ll admit; your company ain’t sunshine and roses either, but I’m not complainin’, am I?”

Raising an eyebrow, Severus snorted in disbelief.  “You complain all the time!  I’ve met hags with better manners than you!”

To Severus’ ongoing annoyance, Moody laughed outright at his words, even going so far as to slap his knee a few times.

“I don’t see why I should trust you with anything,” Severus added, not entirely under his breath. 

Suddenly serious, Moody frowned and narrowed his eyes.  “Harry’d disagree, I think.”

Severus scowled darkly and added, “The boy has enough problems without a demented vagabond like _you_ in his life.”

“And what’d that make _you_ , Snape?”  Moody replied, his lips twisting in what could have been a sneer. 

“In comparison with you, I am practically the upper echelon of gentility!” He growled, resisting the urge to bodily throw Moody out of his quarters. 

Moody’s sneer morphed into a crooked smile at Severus’ words, and he leaned back against and put his hands behind his head comfortably.

“How do yeh propose to keep him safe, Snape?  Dumbledore’ll have him go back to those piles of slop he calls his relatives at the end of the year, and yeh know Harry won’t agree.  Much as I hate to admit it,” here he cleared his throat loudly, “Harry seems ta listen to yeh; much as he can, anyway.”

Severus frowned at the thought.  What could Dumbledore possibly be getting out of this, other than a highly volatile weapon for a boy?

“Harry is _not_ going back there,” Severus snarled.  His fingers twitched at the thought, but he kept his magic under control.  “I’ve already had my barrister start the paperwork,” he admitted softly, glancing back at Harry’s room, even though he knew the boy was fast asleep. 

“And if Dumbledore gets in the way?”  Moody dropped his relaxed pose and leaned forwards, both eyes staring forcefully in his direction. 

“Then I’ll pick a different method,” was his simple answer. 

Moody looked thoughtful at his words.  “Seein’ as how you’re a potions master, that shouldn’t be too hard, I’m guessin’.”

Severus nodded.  “A little blood magic, and the ministry won’t have a leg to stand on.”

“You’ll have to tell him,” Moody countered, blue eyes still staring back with intensity.  “Consensual magic is almost always stronger.  Course,” the older man’s smile thinned, “It’d be stronger still if yeh were combinin’ his blood with more than one family’s.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “You can’t possibly be suggesting what I think you are.”

“Now come on Snape.  I hear that havin’ two daddies nowadays is very fashionable,” Moody said, the corner of his mouth curling up with a wicked grin. 

. . .

Minerva was, in a word, _furious_. 

 _How dare Severus try to insinuate that she wasn’t **competent** enough to do her own job?  How dare he, of all people, even suggest that he knew better than she did when it came to the safety of the students? _

_How dare he!?_

“Minerva,” Albus said, breaking into her musings with that infuriating calm voice of his. 

“What?” She snapped back, her mind still suffering the indignations that Severus had foisted on her. 

“You mustn’t worry so,” he chided her.  “It will ruin your complexion,” Albus added with a twinkle blossoming in his eyes.

She scowled back at him. 

“You might think this amusing Albus, but I do not!”

“Now dear,” Albus responded, laying a wizened hand on her forearm.  “They could have easily have taken this public.”

“So what if they had?” She spat.

“Minerva,” Albus’ expression hardened and she forced herself to regain some of her usual calm.  “Having the masses side against the school would be very bad publicity.  Your job, and likely mine, would be at stake.”

For a moment, she floundered.  Then, “Are you saying that you don’t believe me about what happened in class that day?”

Albus did not respond immediately.  “I know that you were hesitant as to the validity of his illness,” he said finally. 

“You think that I should have sent the boy directly to the infirmary,” she growled. 

With a sigh, he answered, “It would have been easier.”

“What happened to treating him like a regular student?” She retorted. 

“Would you not have sent a regular student to Poppy if you suspected them of being ill?”  His blue eyes were piercing in their intensity.

“I—,” she turned away. 

He moved around so that he could see into her face again.  “Did he not look ill?”

“I didn’t,” she admitted in a whisper.

“You didn’t?  What didn’t you do?”

“I didn’t look.”

For a moment, Albus merely regarded her silently.  Then, “How do you expect to make inroads with him as a student if you refuse to even see him?”

“Albus—.”

“Minerva,” Albus’ old hands reached out and grasped her own. “We discussed this.  How can you expect him to trust you if you only ignore him?”

“It isn’t as easy as that!”

Albus looked back at her mournfully.  “And what of your regard for Lily and for James?  You would dare ignore their only son—.”

She interrupted.  “That is precisely why it isn’t easy! He isn’t them.  He isn’t what they were like.  He—,” awkwardly, her eyes tried to fill with tears.  “He is everything they were not! I look at him and see them standing broken before me.  I see _him_ and I remember their bodies crushed under the rubble of that house.  I _see him_ and I _see Death!_ ”  She ripped her hands out of his and edged closer to his office door.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Albus’ voice was hushed. 

“Because you were the one to make him like that!” She screeched.

Albus flinched as though she had slapped him.  She wished she had.

“I am not responsible for the accident that caused his condition,” Albus finally answered, his voice older than it had been a moment before.

“You made him go there to begin with,” she retorted with a frown.  “I told you that they were the wrong sort, but you made him go there.  _You_ made him go,” she said, pointing a finger at his chest, but not actually touching him with it.  “If you had listened to me, none of this would have ever occurred!”

“Accidents happen, Minerva.”

“Don’t try to tell me that your decision to send him _back_ was an accident.”

“He needed to regain his strength through his own methods.”

“Don’t tell me that drivel,” she sneered. “You wanted him to be miserable.”

“I wanted to help him learn to be self-reliant,” was Albus’ calm answer. “At least to an extent.”

She sniffed in distaste. “Then you must be overjoyed now, since he is.”

“I never expected him to run away,” Albus admitted in a soft voice.  

“You never expected him to have a will of his own,” she corrected.

Albus didn’t respond.  He just looked at her. 

“Would you like to know how I know that?”  She asked with a tight lipped smile. 

“Because you hoped the same, my dear?”  Was Albus’ sombre response.

Her smile was bitter.  “And what are we going to do about it now?”

“There is only one thing we can do, my dear,” he said, the twinkle in his eyes abruptly back.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at his suddenly bright tone. “And that would be?”

“Agree to Severus’ reparations and make amends,” Albus answered, with a knowing smile.  “Harry’s a good boy.  He’ll forgive you.”

“As I remember it, he hasn’t forgiven _you_ yet.”

“But you are different.  He doesn’t yet have anything to truly hate you for,” Albus calmly pointed out. “Simply tell him the truth of what you see in him.  He’ll understand.”

“I wish I had your faith,” was her final biting remark as she stalked out his office.

. . .

Moody had finally left after telling Severus to think about it.  He did have to admit that the idea, while ludicrous and inane in every possible way, would protect Harry from just about everyone around him, but that still didn’t mean that it was worth it. 

First of all, for it even to have a fighting chance at working, he and Moody would have to formally register themselves as being in some kind of bonded relationship. 

That right there was enough for Severus to hex the man silly just for suggesting the idea.

It would be different if they actually _were_ together, since magic could recognize the existence of a loving relationship, despite the lack of a formal bond.  However, since that was most definitely _never_ going to happen— _never, never, never,_ Severus’ mind vehemently swore—the only other option was that they go the official route.

Of course, there was one other option, but Severus would rather eat his own wand than let Moody play grandfather to Harry and— _ugh_ —father to him. 

“What’s it matter anyway, Snape?  Your reputation would probably only gain,” the other man had said with a twisted expression of near maniacal amusement. 

“You do understand that for the magic to actually work, we would have to agree to live together for at least a short while?”  Severus had spat back, feeling more than a little ill at the idea. 

“I’d better start packing,” Moody had replied, winking at him in a manner that had made him start edging backwards.  “Oh come off it, Snape! Yeh know as well as I do that the official routes are more pomp and grandeur than actual _feeling_.  It wouldn’t mean a damn thing in the long run.”

“And _that_ ,” Severus had hissed, pulling himself up to his full height, “is why it would never work.  Magic recognizes _intent_ ; surely you remember that from your distant schooling years? We would have to make at _least_ a token effort at becoming a family for any of this to have even the slightest chance of being accepted by Harry’s magic.” 

 _A family—bloody Merlin in Azkaban, what was the world coming to?_

Apparently the dreaded “F” word had shaken Moody as well, because the man had left shortly after with hardly another taunt. 

The idea of having a family with _anyone_ was completely preposterous, but yet, that was what he seemed to be willing to do for the boy-who-lived-to-frustrate-him.

 _But with Moody?  Could he make the necessary sacrifices, play the necessary part in order to make Harry as safe as he possibly could be from the meddling hands of the Ministry and Dumbledore?_

On the other hand, if he tried to do it his way and adopt Harry—legally or illegally—would it be enough without the addition of Moody’s extra magical contribution?

Really, what it boiled down to was the question of whether or not he could he afford to take that chance.

. . .

The holidays, despite fervent wishes otherwise, could not last forever, and as a result, professors and students alike soon found themselves facing the beginning of another school term. 

On the train back to Hogwarts, an unlikely trio of two Gryffindors and one Slytherin could be found occupying one of the compartments.  The only thing they had in common with one another—aside from their year and their destination—was Harry Potter. 

Teddy explained to the other two that he had received a missive from Professor Snape informing him that Harry was safe and being taken care of, but like the Gryffindors, he’d feel a lot better if he could see his friend with his own eyes. 

“I hope that he’s been staying away from Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said, surprising the two boys with her statement. 

“Finally seeing the truth, I suppose?” Teddy asked bluntly.

Hermione growled and said, “I’d have to be a fool not to, _Teddy_.”

Still though, admitting that she no longer trusted her head of house had been a hard statement to make.  Luckily, Teddy realised that and stayed away from the subject after that.  He knew how hard it was to go from trusting adults to suddenly not. 

“You don’t think she’d do something to hurt any of us, do you?” Was Neville’s hesitantly spoken question.

“I’d keep out of her way for a while,” Teddy responded thoughtfully, drawing a hand through his hair, causing it to briefly stand on end.  Unlike Harry’s wild mess, his hair actually responded to a comb, and though he didn’t usually care if it was neat, he could at least _make_ it so.

“You know that Snape will have done _something_ to get back at her,” Hermione mused aloud.

“I’d sure like to know what,” Teddy answered with a scowl.  It was one thing to show favouritism in class, but it was another to actually _mistreat_ a student, and in front of witnesses, no less.

“It’s really neat that Professor Snape cares so much about his students,” Neville said wistfully in the space that followed. 

Turning to look at the round faced boy, Teddy said, “Well, he has to. He knows that no one else is going to step up to advocate for the Snakes.”

Silence fell after the small boy’s profound statement, and eventually they turned to other less threatening topics of discussion.

. . .

Harry blinked awake.  This was his last night in Snape’s quarters, at least for the time being.  He cast tempus with his wand and watched as a set of glowing numbers appeared in the dark beside his bed.  It was just after 3 am. 

He wondered what woke him. He felt unnaturally awake, but he wasn’t sure if that was from doing so little over the last few days, or something else.  Truthfully, he had never had so much bed rest; certainly not within his memory.  Blinking, he stretched and yawned and decided to go to the loo. 

After returning, he tried to lie back down, but sleep was being elusive now, and after another ten minutes or so of lying wide awake in the dark, he decided to get up. 

Pulling on his leg, he quietly flipped out his crutch and silently crept to the door. He wasn’t in the mood to sit and read.  He needed to take a walk and hopefully get rid of some of the nervous energy that was flowing rampantly through his system. 

 _Is it because classes are starting again tomorrow?_ He asked himself, feeling only hesitant agreement from within his heart at his question. 

It could be, or it could be something else.  He almost turned back around after leaving the safety of his Professor’s quarters, but in the end decided to keep walking.  He just needed a little physical activity and then he was sure he could convince his body to go back to sleep. 

As he had mentioned to Teddy, he usually listened to his hunches, but sometimes, he needed to see what happened if he ignored them.  It wasn’t always a bright idea, but it kept him alert and focused, and he needed that to keep him safe.  He couldn’t afford to get complacent, no matter how much Snape’s steady presence made him wish he could be. 

He had made a full circuit of the corridor that Snape’s— _Severus’_ quarters existed on, when abruptly he sighted something he couldn’t remember seeing on the way.  It was an open door that he could have _sworn_ had not been open moments before. 

Creeping quietly in that direction, he lifted his crutch slightly off the floor and slowed his breathing down to near silence.  There was no light coming from the room, but Harry’s night vision in his prosthetic eye was good enough for him to see the insides of the classroom without casting lumos.

Peering around the edge of the doorway, he eyeballed the space inside, trying to see if anyone was in there.  It _was_ possible that something like a ghost or Peeves had brushed past, creating just enough of an air flow to make the door creak open of its own accord; maybe not _likely_ , but infinitely possible.

But it was empty—at least so far as he could tell.  He was turning to leave then, when something caught his eye.  Curious, he stepped into the room and crept forward to see if he could determine exactly what it was that he had seen. 

A few more steps in and he suddenly stopped still, his eyebrows raised and his mouth briefly open as he stared back at the magnificent mirror that was sitting opposite him. 

Squinting, he saw that there were words written across the top:  _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

Harry had always been good with words, and especially after losing so much of his hearing, he had taken to playing with letters in his mind in the place of talking with other kids.  It didn’t take him very long to realise that the phrase was backwards.

 _I show not your face but your heart's desire_ , he thought with a quizzical expression. 

Glancing around once more to make sure he was alone, he took another step forward.  He knew that it couldn’t be safe being so close to a magical artefact, but he was confident that his professor would be able to help him if he wound up in trouble.  He couldn’t imagine that such an artefact would have been left out if it was truly _dangerous_ , and besides, it wasn’t as though he were _afraid_ of death.

The sight that greeted him was . . . surprising.

 _I show your heart’s desire_ , he thought, stepping even closer, though not close enough to touch the thing itself. 

Staring back at him was _him_ , but where Harry had crutches and scars across his head, _this_ Harry had none of that.  The sight made him scowl.  His quasi-mirror self shrugged as though to say, ‘What can I do?’

He shifted again and suddenly could see another figure stepping out from the mist surrounding his other self.  It was Snape and he watched in interested silence as Snape slipped a hand around his shoulder and then gave a small proud smile.  On his other side, he saw Moody clomp up to stand beside him, and then abruptly, the mirror began filling even further. 

A red haired woman pushed her way into the picture, resting a pretty hand on Snape’s shoulder, even as a dark messy haired man showed up to smirk beside her.  Behind them were scores of people who all seemed to bear some vague resemblance to him. 

He could _see_ his family, his biological and his personally chosen and despite the fact that this was obviously his heart’s desire, he soon found himself turning away from the sight; his eyes brimming with tears as he did.  Magical images were all well and good, he supposed, feeling rather miserable as he quickly backed out of the room, but what good did it _do_ him if he couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel them?

He had both been enchanted with the sight of himself healthy and whole, but at the same time, the sight had infuriated him.  He quickly shuffled back to Snape’s quarters as he thought over his reactions to what he had seen.  Did the mirror mean to imply that his family would have only wanted him uninjured?  He knew that Snape and Moody were fine with him the way he was, but having never met any other family members aside from the Dursleys, he wasn’t at all certain that they would have responded the same way. 

He knew that the Dursleys were a special category, but they weren’t the only ones who had reacted with horror to his physical predicament.  They weren’t the only ones to shun him for being different, although they were special in that they had been the _first_.

Safely back in Snape’s quarters, he quickly crept back into _his_ bed—the one that the _castle_ had provided for him.  It was real.  It was soft and the covers were warm and he knew that it would always be there for him to use.  He could embrace his pillow. 

He couldn’t embrace his long dead family, and considering what he looked like now, he wasn’t sure that they would have ever been able to embrace him. 

 


	18. The First Week Back

Before the incident with Harry and Professor McGonagall, Hermione Granger had never even _thought_ to question the decisions that her professors made, but now that her eyes had been opened, it was hard to go back to being ignorant.

Upon returning to school and her classes, her newly opened eyes showed her a multitude of things that she had never even thought to look for. Everyone knew that Professor Snape was biased against Gryffindors, but she had never really noticed how much grief the other professors gave the Slytherins. Whereas a Gryffindor might get 5 points for a partially right answer, a Slytherin would be lucky to get even half of that for a clearer response.

Not all of the professors were as open about it as others, but overall, it was slowly becoming clear to her that her teachers were not the almost saint-like visages her mind had once portrayed them as. Instead, they were human and they were very much flawed.

These newfound realisations made her question even more of her understandings about the world she lived in. If a teacher could be biased in their treatment of the students just based on what _house_ they were in, then couldn't they also be equally biased about the information that they were presenting in the class?

Where did it stop? Did that mean that the authors of her textbooks were equally biased? Did that mean that the "truths" they wrote about were only half-truths? Did that mean that they ignored facts in order to push forth their views?

It hurt her head to think about these things, but she _had_ to know. If she was right—and she suspected that she was—then she would have to change the way she learned; she'd _have_ to find a way (or ways) to make her own knowledge of the world more equal to all the sides of the equation.

Who was to say that Light magic really _was_ the best choice at all? Certainly the majority of the professors at Hogwarts seemed to think it was, but she could no longer truly trust them. After all, Professor Dumbledore seemed to be the figurehead for the Light, but it was evident from Harry that the man was nothing if not manipulating. Was that a bad thing? Could her headmaster justify his reasoning to himself when he slept at night?

"Of course he can," Teddy had answered when she had brought her concerns to him. "Dumbles doesn't bother to _look_ at Harry and see how his manipulations have really affected him. He only cares for the result, not the process. According to him, the product is the important part, and if he has to ruin someone's life along the way, well that's not really his concern."

"Then why does he do it at all?" Hermione had fretted.

Teddy frowned and edged closer to her before answering in an even softer voice than usual. "Harry thinks that Dumbles is trying to make him into some kind of weapon."

"How?" She whispered. "Why?"

"The why is easy," Teddy answered with a grimace. "Dumbles expects the Dark Lord to return, and he's planning on using Harry to protect everyone."

Hermione's jaw dropped with that information.

"As for how, I think—and so does Harry to a point—that Dumbles is forcing him endure as much stress as possible in order for him to build up resistance for the war that he is likely to have to fight later on."

"But, but we're just _kids_ ," she had spluttered, feeling her childhood slipping through her fingers at an ever increasing rate.

Teddy had merely narrowed his eyes at her plea. "I doubt that Harry has felt anything like a child since being dumped at his relatives' house. As for me, I hate being a kid. You're too small to fight back—visibly at least—and no one ever gives a damn for anything you have to say. I'll be glad when I'm older and I can _make_ people listen to me." His eyes had flared frighteningly dark at this pronouncement and she had shivered.

It hadn't been until later that she had truly understood his sentiment.

. . .

Severus had tried for a week to wrap his mind around being in a relationship with Moody and as of yet, he still could not stand the thought. In fact, the concept of even _pretending_ to be with the man turned his stomach.

Before breakfast that Friday, he penned a short note to Moody and attached it to the leg of his hawk, Daralis. If he was right, then the blasted old man would show up on his doorstep that evening, invitation or not, but he didn't feel like leaving it up to chance.

They needed to rework their plans. Without being in a formal bonded relationship, then the only other route was for Severus to be adopted by Moody; something that was becoming more and more preferable the more he thought about having to be intimate, or even quasi-intimate with the older auror.

Severus considered his sexual preferences to be a bit non-standard, even for the wizarding world, but the idea of sharing his bed with the creature that was Alastor Moody was too much for him to reconcile.

 _It's not as though my bastard of a father left me anything worthwhile anyway_ , he thought bitterly.

He had finished the potion earlier that morning. Blood magic, although now illegal, had once been very popular among the purebloods; so while it was taboo to discuss the topic openly, it was still fairly easy to get access to the necessary ingredients and recipes.

The potion they would be using should the paperwork not work out—or maybe in addition to—was called _amor et familia_. The potion worked under the belief that family was not limited to only blood, but inclusive to all as long as there was love. It had long been used for integrating adopted members of one's family more deeply into the traditions and strengths that pervaded one's familial history. Not only did the drinker take on some of the physical traits of the adoptive family, but they also gained some of that family's skills.

Severus had read that the physical traits could only be passed on to those adopted as youth, but given the wizarding world's propensity for longevity, the term 'youth' could be anything from Harry's age to Alastor's.

His mother had made it known to him that the Prince family had almost always produced knowledgeable brewers and strong duellers, and he hoped that Harry got at least one of those skills. The boy could use as much help as he could get from them, which was why he needed both Severus _and_ Moody as familial donors.

Severus didn't know much about Moody's family, but he did know that the older auror had been (and was) quite distinguished in his line of work, and that was no easy feat.

The original genetic material given to Harry from James and Lily Potter would still be present, but it would be added to by the blood and magic of Severus and Moody, hopefully combining together to create a very powerful wizard in Harry.

Now all that was needed was for Moody to arrive that evening. Severus cast _tempus_ and sighed. It was nearly time for his first class of the day, and as he knew far too well, the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins never failed to be an interesting pastime. He hoped that they could refrain from blowing up too many cauldrons that morning. He wasn't just wasn't in the mood for it.

. . .

Minerva surreptitiously watched Harry Potter with his little horde of friends all that week. She needed to make her "apology" seem legitimate, and she supposed that it was, at least to a point. Regardless of how she felt about the boy himself, she owed it to the memory of his parents to keep him well—at least physically.

It was during the last class of the day, the first Thursday since they had resumed classes following the break, that she made her apology to Potter and his class.

"I wish to apologize to Mr. Potter before we begin our lesson today," she began, somewhat amused by the sudden widening of eyes throughout the class of Gryffindor and Slytherin students.

"I was . . ." the woman pursed her lips for a moment before continuing. "I was overly harsh to you in our last class. I apologize for not seeing how ill you were that day." She took her eyes off of him and turned to the rest of the class. "If you are ever feeling sick, please tell me and you will be excused to see Madame Pomfrey. Attempting magic while otherwise impaired is not healthy for you or for those around you."

With that, she turned back to the board and continued on with the lesson.

. . .

Harry was all too aware of when he was being watched, given that Minerva McGonagall's gaze was hardly what he'd call _subtle_. He wasn't too surprised by her announcement in their class that day, but he was surprised to see how much honesty she had seemed to put into her apology. Of course, he well knew how easy it was to apologize for something while thinking of something else to garner the appropriate emotions for it. He simply hadn't been aware that a _Gryffindor_ would know of such things.

 _Or be able to think of them to begin with,_ he thought with a snort.

Of course, considering how many blunders a typical Gryffindor made in a day, it really shouldn't have been a surprise to him that his professor understood the mechanics of making what seemed like a legitimate apology.

 _Apologizing for mistakes is something that Gryffindors and Slytherins have in common. Although, I suspect we snakes are usually better at it, but that doesn't mean that people always believe what we have to say._

He turned over in his bed and pulled his blankets farther up around his shoulders. He got his best thinking done late at night when he was drifting off to sleep. Sleep wasn't the escape that it was for many of his peers, but he'd take what he could get.

His mind drifted off in a new direction: Moody. The older man was a mystery, to be sure. He was fairly positive that he and Severus were planning something, and he was pretty sure it involved him in some way. He hoped they let him in on the scheme before it was too late, but since Severus was involved, he wasn't too worried that it was something that could hurt him unduly. He trusted him more than he had ever trusted anyone else, and that was significant.

In fact, thinking of his head of house was enough to bring a smile to his lips, and here in the privacy of his curtained bed, he allowed himself to really express it.

Severus was the first adult that had ever kept his word to him, and Harry was beginning to get the feeling that there wasn't much that would change that truth. Besides, the man actually seemed to care about _him_. That was a thought he wasn't quite sure he could look too closely at yet, but he liked it nonetheless.

That night, Harry went to sleep with a smile on his face.

. . .

Moody showed up at Snape's door exactly half an hour early, just to keep the younger man on his toes. He enjoyed toying with the Slytherin, if only because he could. Despite Snape's arguments to the contrary, Moody knew that the man understood his worth in their current situation.

He knocked and then gave a twisted smile at the disgruntled look on Snape's face at his early arrival.

"If you're here, you might as well cease loitering in the hallway like some kind of dirty hoodlum and go ahead and come in," was Snape's greeting to him.

Moody grinned wider at that and strolled in. As he passed Snape, a wicked thought occurred to him and he quickly pecked the other man on the cheek before stepping all the way inside. Snape turned even whiter at the action, but waited to close the door before daring to say anything to him about it.

Unfortunately, that had been enough to start Moody's ornery imagination and he was already prepared with a plan of response.

"You did not just . . . _kiss_ me!" Snape very nearly spluttered, his face quickly changing from stunned paleness to murderously red.

"Why not?" Moody sauntered closer to the other man, amused when Snape backpedalled only to come up short with the wall behind him. "I admit, yeh're a bit young for me," here he moved his eye down Snape's body and then back up again to see the other man's eyes widen slightly.

He put out a gnarled hand on the wall behind Snape and leaned in closer. "But I can tell yeh're built well under all these robes," he said in a low voice, touching the front of Snape's dark teaching robes with his other hand. He was close enough to hear the other man gulp and internally he let out a low snicker.

The chest under his hand tensed and he leant in almost close enough to kiss Snape on the lips, only to stop and take in the sight of a very distressed Slytherin. It was something he could cherish for years to come, and he intended to enjoy it.

"Or not," he bit out gruffly, leaning back and stepping away to sit down on a nearby armchair.

It took a moment for Snape to follow him, but when he did it was swift.

"What in Merlin's name was that!" Snape growled coldly, poking one long finger into the centre of Moody's chest.

Moody grinned and said, "Fun."

For a moment Snape didn't respond, he just scowled and his fingers twitched as though he wanted to go for his wand but knew better. Then abruptly he turned on his heel and went to sit down on the opposite side of the room.

"You are a demented old pervert, Moody," Snape said darkly, just barely loud enough for him to hear from where he was seated.

"Does that mean that yeh don't want to share a sleeping bag with me?" He cocked on eyebrow and watched in hidden glee as Snape turned green at the thought.

"I've rethought this idea," the other man said instead. "I think that the magic would take better if you adopt me."

Moody had to give it to the man; he managed to say that without shuddering.

"I don't suppose yeh have a daddy kink, by any chance?" He couldn't help but add on.

"Cease this disgusting conversation immediately!" Snape growled back at him, wand in hand this time.

Moody just stared back at him for a moment before breaking into hoarse laughter. "Snape, yeh've got to admit, that was pretty damn funny."

The glare that Snape gave back was even funnier and it was some time before Moody could speak again.

. . .

Harry and Teddy moved down the corridors to Severus' quarters quickly that evening. They had just received word via their professor's hawk that they were to appear there at the conclusion of dinner. Severus himself had been absent from the meal that evening, and Harry once again hoped that it had something to do with the mysterious scheme that Severus and Moody were involved in.

Sure enough, the door opened to reveal his professor and Moody engaged in a fierce debate of some kind. He and Teddy glanced at one another briefly before walking inside. Harry turned to make sure the door was closed and didn't see Teddy talking to Moody and Severus.

"You'd best keep it civil tonight," Teddy said shortly, glancing back at Harry who turned back toward them with a confused expression.

"Harry, Teddy," Severus greeted them once he had both their attentions.

Harry raised his eyebrow but didn't say anything. He was sure he could get it from Severus later on if need be.

"Please have a seat," Severus said before calling for tea from the house elves.

That was another surprise for Harry. He knew that Severus usually didn't like the little creatures enough to let them voluntarily into his quarters, but it seemed that tonight was different. Severus was strangely focused on something, and Harry looked forward to finding out what.

"Moody and I," Severus said with a small grimace as though the thought of them ever doing anything together was enough to make him ill. "Have devised a way to keep you safe, Harry, and in the process, to give you a new home."

Harry's eyebrows rose at this, but still he didn't say anything. He needed to know the full story before making any judgments on the information.

"Teddy," Severus said, turning his head slightly to look at Teddy. "Tell Harry what you know of the skills of magical family."

Harry watched as his friend's eyes widened, and he had a feeling that he was the only one still in the dark about what was happening. He resisted the childish urge to scowl and instead turned his attention on Teddy.

"In magical families," Teddy began slowly, his brow now furrowed with thought. "Especially the pureblooded ones, there are particular skills and talents associated within the bloodline itself. For instance, the Notts have long been known for our talent at working with dark creatures. There's even a precedent for at least one or two members per generation to be able to find and then bond with magical creatures that the rest of the civilized world considers too dangerous to even go near. Depending on a wizard or witch's power level, the gift either manifests during puberty or else after that person reaches their majority."

"Aren't there other people with this skill?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but for other people outside of the Nott family itself, such a skill has to be learned and cultivated. Within my family, it is simply as natural as anything else."

Harry frowned and then turned his attention back to Severus, who was watching them both closely. "What skills are known in your family?"

With a small smile, Severus explained that as a half-blood, his mother's side of the family were the ones with the long history of magical skills. "The Princes are known for producing strong duellers and competent brewers."

"More than competent, from what I've heard," Teddy said, repeating what he had said for Harry after he turned his attention back to him.

"Thank you, Teddy," Severus inclined his head with a nod once both boys' eyes were on him.

"And what about you, sir?" Harry asked Moody, his green eyed gaze intent upon the older man's face.

Severus also raised an eyebrow at his question, since the other man had not yet felt fit to reveal it to him as of yet either.

"Moodys tend to have an affinity for defensive magic, and also to a lesser extent, the ability to accurately read the emotions of others," the old auror answered back, speaking slowly enough so that Harry was able to follow easily. He knew that he didn't have anywhere near Snape's enunciation prowess, and this was important for Harry to understand.

"So how do you propose finding me a new home? Have you convinced some other hapless family to take me in?" Harry asked, finally giving into the urge to scowl.

He remembered all too well what he had seen in the Mirror, and he didn't have to fool himself into thinking that his desires were anything except foolish. He didn't belong anywhere and everyone knew it, especially the headmaster.

"Harry," Severus said, getting up and kneeling down on the floor in front of where he and Teddy were seated.

Black eyes looked steadily into green, and Harry swallowed down the more intense emotions he felt trying to expand outwards from his chest.

"I want to adopt you, Harry," Severus stated, reaching out and gathering both of Harry's hands into his much larger ones.

Harry looked down at his hands, down to the one that stayed gloved more often than not nowadays, and tried not to fidget. One of Severus' hands moved from holding his hands to touching Harry's chin, and he glanced back up at his professor's dark eyes.

" _All_ of you, Harry. Unconditional love means that I love you in spite of your faults and your mistakes. I'm proud of you no matter what you do. You don't have to earn your place with me."

Harry breathed out hard through his nose and pinched his lips together as he tried to keep the tears from exploding out of his eye. He blinked hard when that didn't work, and then finally he leaned forward and let Severus hold him against a warm chest. He felt Severus' mouth moving over his head, but didn't want to break their embrace to see the words.

He wanted to imagine that the man was saying, "I love you," but at the same time he was afraid to look.

Severus seemed to understand that, and in the next moment the man's hand moved between their bodies, down to rest just over both of their hearts. He could feel his heartbeat thumping wildly against a stronger beat and finally he understood the truth.

Severus loved him.


	19. The Adoption

"Are you sure you don't mind me being here?" Teddy asked for the third time.

"It's fine," Harry answered with an exasperated eye roll.

"Fine good or fine, I don't really want to tell you how I feel?" Teddy pressed.

"Mr. Nott," Severus said finally. "You are invited to our adoption ceremonies. Would you like a formal invitation, or is a verbal one acceptable?" He quirked an eyebrow and smirked when Teddy gave him a tentative smile.

. . .

"We'll do mine first," Severus informed the two boys. "Otherwise, Moody's family magic will not be added to your own, Harry."

Harry nodded. It made sense. There was only one thing he wanted to know.

He touched Severus' arm and asked, "Are you nervous?"

His soon to be guardian glanced back toward Moody, where the older man was waiting expectantly with the necessary items for a blood adoption.

"Nervous?" Severus answered when his gaze had shifted fully back to Harry. "Not exactly," he answered with a frown. "Apprehensive of possible difficulties? Yes."

Harry nodded and then glanced over at Teddy to gauge how he was doing. The other boy was unusually serious faced, even for a Nott.

"You don't mind, do you?" Harry asked.

"Why would I mind?" Teddy answered, his face cracking into a smile. "You're getting a family and so is Severus."

"You're not . . ." Harry floundered for a moment, unsure of how to voice his worry. "You're not jealous, are you?"

Teddy shrugged. "You need it more than I do. At least I have my mum. She's pretty fond of me, I think. You need something to help you against Bumbledore. I don't."

Harry smiled. "Thanks." Teddy was a good friend. He was glad that they had met.

Something poked him in his arm and he turned to see Moody watching them with an amused expression. "If yeh two are done yammering?"

Harry felt very shy abruptly. This man was about to be his grandfather. It was a hard concept to wrap his mind around, but he was pleased nonetheless. He especially appreciated the fact that there were no more uncles or aunts to contend with in his new family. Well—at least he didn't think so.

"You're not married, are you Moody?" Harry asked as they moved to the couches in the centre of Severus' quarters.

His gaze only on the older man, Harry missed Severus' choked bark of laughter at his question.

"I'm not," Moody answered with a wry grin. "And you?" He asked Harry.

Harry's eyebrows rose. Yuck! "Uh, no."

Severus moved into his peripheral, and he turned his attention on his professor.

"You will not need to worry about any grandmothers coming into this equation, Harry," Severus added with an evil twist of his lips.

"Or mothers," Moody retorted as Harry's gaze went back to him.

"You can share mine, if you like," Teddy added. At Harry's confused expression, he explained. "My mother. You can share her if you like."

Harry smiled at the warm feelings that were suddenly bubbling in his chest. _Is this how having a family feels?_ He hoped so. He liked it. He wanted to hug them to himself and keep them from escaping his body. His grin grew at his ridiculous idea.

A hand on his shoulder suddenly began pulling him toward the sofa. He followed and sat down next to Teddy and then turned back to look at Moody and Severus, the two men he would soon be calling Grandfather and Father, respectively. Even with his enthusiasm, the fear that they would grow tired of him still remained.

He shook his head. Severus had _promised_ that this was forever. _Promised_.

"All right there, lad?" Moody asked him.

Harry nodded, secretly pleased that his mental distress had been noticed.

Moody turned his body back toward Severus, but kept his head turned in such a way that Harry could still see what he was saying. He picked up the goblet that had the adoption potion in it and held it out in front of his body. Meanwhile, Severus held up a shining dagger and took a step towards the older man.

"I, Alastor Ignatius Moody, oldest and head of the Moody clan, stand here this day to respectfully invite Severus Tobias Snape to be added as a full and honourable member of our ancient clan. What say you, Severus Tobias Snape? Will you stand for our family as your own? Do you vow to protect its members, young and old?"

Harry unconsciously held his breath. This was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen take place between the two men in front of him.

"I do," Severus answered, dagger still held in his outstretched hands. His face was more pale than normal, but otherwise his countenance was calm.

"My blood shall serve you as it has served me," Moody said, stretching out a gnarled hand toward Severus, the goblet still held tightly in his other.

Severus carefully sliced a small incision in Moody's palm and then manoeuvred it so that it briefly dripped into the goblet. Moody closed his hand after a moment and then pulled it back with an expectant look on his face as he waited for Severus to speak his part.

"My blood into yours, to be surrounded and protected," Severus said, slicing that small incision into his own palm and holding it over the goblet.

"To hold safe," Moody stated after Severus pulled his hand back. "To live and to die. To work to create a home for our own and for others. To guide and to have all full rights, magically and otherwise. I ask once again, do you Severus Tobias Snape accept?"

Magic crackled between the two of them, but they seemed to be oblivious to its presence.

"I do," Severus answered decisively, placing the dagger on the table beside them. He stepped forward again; his nearly black eyes serious and intent on the task in front of him.

"Do you accept the title of 'Son' with all the privileges and responsibilities that comes with it?" Moody asked, eyes not straying from the younger man before him.

"I do," Severus answered for the third time.

At his words, Moody drank of the goblet and then pushed it into Severus' nearby hand. Severus took and drank as well before setting it aside next to the dagger.

"So be it, Severus son of Alastor," Moody said, reaching out his hand and taking Severus' own into a firm grasp.

"So be it, Father," Severus answered, swallowing hard.

A blinding light encircled their hands and pushed up their arms until they were surrounded on every side by its brilliant aura.

Then it was gone and both men slowly released one another's hands.

"Wow," Harry breathed.

"Wow indeed," Severus murmured, blinking hard at the change he could feel beginning to manifest within his body. It would take a full night's sleep for the changes to become fully apparent, but already he felt different. His magic was more _receptive_ to his surroundings. He felt almost as though his senses had increased, adding depth and colour to even the most mundane of the things around him.

. . .

"And now it's your turn lad," Moody said to Harry, motioning that he should stand up and join Severus in the middle of the room. His professor had changed positions so that he was standing where Moody had been mere moments ago, and Harry slowly stepped into the spot opposite.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Severus asked when he looked up.

Slowly he nodded his head. He hoped his eyes didn't change colours. That would be a pain, not only because he liked his eye colour, but he'd have to go back in to get his fake one tweaked. He mentally snorted at himself and then reached over to pick up the dagger like he'd seen Severus do.

"I, Severus Tobias Snape-Moody, son of Alastor Ignatius Moody, stand here this day to respectfully invite Harry James Potter to be added as a junior and honourable member of our ancient clan. What say you, Harry James Potter? Will you stand for our family as your own? Do you vow to respect its members, young and old?"

"I do," Harry said, the dagger strangely warm in his hands. His insides felt as though they were being shaken, and he hoped his voice wasn't reflecting that.

"My blood shall serve you as it has served me," Severus said, stretching out a long fingered hand toward Harry, the goblet still held tightly in his other.

With a gulp, Harry carefully sliced a small incision in Severus' palm and then tried to push it up so that it briefly dripped into the goblet. Like Moody had, Severus let it drip for a moment and then closed his hand and pulled it back with a slight nod to Harry.

"My blood into y-yours," Harry answered, feeling quite outside of his body. "T-to be surrounded and protected," Harry finished, slicing that small cut into his own palm and holding it over the goblet. He winced at the feel, but he tried to keep it off his face like Severus and Moody had.

Warm eyes met green ones as Severus waited for Harry to close his fist and pull his hand back. Harry did, feeling the heat from the dagger remain in his palm even after he had set it aside.

"To hold safe," Severus stated, slowly enough that Harry wasn't lost. "To live and to die. To work to create a home for our own and for others. To guide and to have all junior rights, magically and otherwise, at least until you reach your majority. To love and be loved," Severus added, his dark eyes shining meaningfully down at Harry.

 _That's something Moody didn't say!_ The warm feeling in his hand spread out to his arm and up to his shoulder.

"I ask once again, do you Harry James Potter accept?"

Harry felt magic crackle between them, but couldn't seem to look anywhere but up at Severus.

"I do," Harry answered, once more feeling as though his answer was coming from somewhere _more_ than just _him_. He felt a desire to be closer, and without thinking, he moved almost near enough to wrap his arms around Severus.

The barest hint of a smile slid across Severus' face as he continued to look down at Harry. "Do you accept the title of 'Son' with all the privileges and responsibilities that comes with it?" Severus asked.

 _This is it!_ Harry's mind squealed ridiculously.

For the third time, Harry answered, "I do."

At his words, Severus drank of the goblet and then handed it carefully into Harry's awaiting hand. Momentarily squeamish about drinking something with their blood in it, Harry's hand shook for a moment until he resolutely pushed the cup up to his lips and drank. It was a strange taste, just the barest hint of copper, and not nearly as horrible as he had expected.

Moving on auto-pilot now, Harry put the goblet aside on the table beside them and then turned his full attention back on Severus.

"So be it, Harry son of Severus," Severus said in a low voice, reaching out his hand and firmly wrapping it around Harry's own.

"So be it, Father," Harry answered, tears swimming in his left eye for a moment. The heat of the magic filled him and he could feel Severus' hand clench down more tightly as it spread outwards.

A blinding light encircled their hands and pushed up their arms until they were surrounded on every side by its brilliant aura. Harry could feel a peaceful sensation fill every pore of his body; and just before the light suddenly disappeared he threw himself forward into his father's awaiting arms.

. . .

"Is this a Mimosa?" Harry asked later, only to wince as the two adults in the room turned and stared at him.

"We're going to have to have a discussion about why you know that word," Severus predicted, his dark eyes glaring down in Harry's.

"Uh right," Harry murmured, glancing at Teddy to see his friend smirking openly back at him.

He could almost hear the man's words now, though not sure entirely sure whether it was a side effect of the ceremony—temporary or otherwise—or whether it was just his overactive imagination hoping in vain for some kind of significant change.

After the glasses filled with orange coloured juice had been fully passed around, Severus stepped into the centre of the room and raised his glass to gather their attentions.

"For those of you who might be wondering," Severus' dark eyes lingered on Harry's for a second. "We are drinking something that Harry's mother created while in her later years at Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes widened and he stepped closer to his father.

"Being of the muggle world and being familiar with Mimosas, she decided to try making them with pumpkin juice and champagne instead orange juice. She called them Willows," Severus smiled a touch wistfully and Harry reached out to wrap his hand around his father's. "I think in honour of the Whomping Willow, which she seemed to be fascinated with."

Carefully, Harry filed that information away in his mind for later.

Straightening his back—though not letting go of Harry's hand—Severus raised his glass high again once more and said, "To family. To blood members and chosen friends and safety in our homes." He then brought the glass to his mouth and drank deeply of it.

One by one, the room's other three occupants followed his example.

. . .

He slept in Severus' quarters that night, as did Moody, although the older man transfigured the sofa instead of taking Harry's proffered bed. Teddy chose to go back to the dorm room, if nothing else for the sake of creating an alibi for Harry, provided he needed one.

Harry saw through the premise, but he let Teddy leave without too much fuss, although he had grinned more than his usual during their entire conversation.

That evening, as he was getting ready for bed, his door began to glow, indicating that someone was knocking. It had been his and Teddy's idea, but Severus had helped them implement it.

"Come in!" He called out, sitting down on the bed and looking up expectantly toward the door.

Harry's face instantly slipped back into a smile when Severus poked his head in. "Hi," Harry said in greeting, feeling a bit foolish.

Severus moved toward him and then without waiting for permission, he sat down lightly on the bed beside Harry.

"I had a thought," Severus began slowly, turning his head to the side as he watched for Harry's reactions.

"That's allowed," Harry said with a snarky grin.

"Brat," Severus huffed playfully, reaching out and lightly rubbing his hand through Harry's hair.

Harry allowed the motion for a moment, and then pulled his head back. Severus dropped his hand instantly at the hint and sat back up.

"You were thinking," Harry prompted, reaching out and taking Severus' larger hand as a form of compromise to having his head touched.

"If it wouldn't be too much of an _inconvenience_ ," Severus said in a deep voice that Harry could _almost_ hear. "I would like to tuck you in tonight."

He shivered and squeezed Severus' hand tightly. "I think I could stand that," he replied, staring up at his father with a shy smile.

"Good," Severus replied, leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

. . .

The next morning, unbeknownst to them, Severus and Harry stumbled out of bed at nearly the same minute, both heading for their respective toilets. Nearly simultaneously, Severus walked into his private bathroom as Harry hopped skilfully to the hall toilet. Dim lights suitable to the early morning lit on their entrances, and within moments of the other, two toilets flushed.

Both boy and man went to leave to their bathrooms then, only to catch sight of something in each of their individual mirrors.

"Bloody hell," Severus breathed as he stared dumbfounded back at his reflection.

"Aw shit," Harry cussed slightly louder at his.

From the sitting room, Moody sat up and grinned at the darkened space around him. Today was going to be an interesting day.

* * *

**Preview of Chapter 20 (just because I know you all are so curious)**

" _What the hell are these?" Harry asked, snarling into the room to point at the sides of his head while glaring down at Moody._

" _Eh, those would be called 'ears' last I checked, lad."_

" _Why the hell do they look like Spock's then!"_

" _Spock?" Moody asked in bemusement._

" _A muggle television show," Severus answered, gliding into the room and causing the other two occupants to stop and stare._

_Harry blinked in surprise and then stepped forward to touch his father's hair with his fingertips._

" _It's really soft," he murmured, watching as Severus smiled at his compliment._

" _Given that I inherited my father's oily hair, I had hoped that my own would change after the ceremony, and happily it did."_

" _It's lighter too," Moody observed, after stepping into Harry's line of vision. "The colour looks a bit like me ol' mum's did, back in her heyday."_

_Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, Severus asked, "Noticeably lighter?"_

" _Not really," Harry interjected, stepping back to look at him with a wider angle. "I think your skin tone got a little darker too. You're not so pale now. If anybody asks," he grinned suddenly, "you can tell them you were out hunting for potion ingredients and got some sun. Course, you could mean 'son' like S-O-N, but they wouldn't know that."_


	20. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – A Mimosa is a cocktail generally made from orange juice and champagne. My mother serves them on Christmas morning. :) Plus, this chapter (though a bit short) is the last of the adoption interlude and hopefully we shall get on with the plot next time. It's a bit late because I've been sick. It's also rather hard to sit down and write with a subluxated/dislocated rib. Fun times.

"What the hell are these?" Harry asked, snarling into the room to point at the sides of his head while glaring down at Moody.

"Eh, those would be called _'ears'_ last I checked, lad."

"Why the hell do they look like Spock's then!?"

"Spock?" Moody asked in bemusement.

"A muggle television show," Severus answered, gliding into the room and causing the other two occupants to stop and stare.

Harry blinked in surprise and then stepped forward to touch his father's hair with his fingertips.

"It's really soft," he murmured, watching as Severus smiled at his compliment.

"Given that I inherited my father's oily hair, I had hoped that my own would change after the ceremony, and happily it did."

"It's lighter too," Moody observed, after stepping into Harry's line of vision. "The colour looks a bit like me ol' mum's did, back in her heyday."

Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, Severus asked, "Noticeably lighter?"

"Not really," Harry interjected, stepping back to look at him with a wider angle. "I think your skin tone got a little darker too. You're not so pale now. If anybody asks," he grinned suddenly, "you can tell them you were out hunting for potion ingredients and got some sun. Course, you could mean 'son' like S-O-N, but they wouldn't have to know that."

Severus snorted and Moody cracked a grin, twisting his face into something more human like. Suddenly Moody's attention moved toward Harry and he instinctively stepped backward.

"What?"

"Severus' was not the only one to change in appearance."

"Yeah, don't remind me," Harry groused, touching the tips of his surprisingly sensitive ears.

"No, it's your hair. It's got a bit of wave to it, more like me own and Olivia's."

"Olivia?"

"My niece," the old man answered, smiling more gently than Harry or Severus had ever seen.

"I wasn't aware you had any siblings," Severus retorted.

"My sister-in-law's child," Moody said. Harry couldn't hear how it changed tone, but Severus obviously could, as his expression softened at the other man's words almost immediately.

"You have a wife?" Severus' face was curiously blank. "Does she still live?"

"She—they were killed."

Moody shook his head and grimaced, his previous smile gone from his face.

"Olivia lives with her brother now. My wife was visiting her sister's family when Death Eaters struck. Olivia and her brother David were wit' me at the time." He pursed his lips and blinked hard before going on. "It was just a few months before your parents were killed," He added with a nod in Harry's direction.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking away.

Moody nodded and then walked over to where Harry was standing. Dropping into a painful kneel, the older man caught Harry's eye and put a hand on his shoulder.

"They stayed with me for a bit until David was old enough to get his own place. Olivia lived with him until she graduated. They took real good care of each other, " Moody said slowly, both of his eyes locked up on Harry's face.

Briefly biting his lip, Harry answered, "That's good."

Moody nodded and then slowly got to his feet. Harry decided to break the awkward silence that followed by bringing back up the topic of their changes.

"So," he cleared his throat, "Where'd these ears come from?"

"Not me, lad," Moody said with a twisted grin. "Heard there mighta been some centaur-human breeding in me past, but nothing with ears like that."

Harry glanced at Severus, whose face was unusually thoughtful. "Actually," Severus began slowly once he realised that he had Harry's attention, "According to legend, there _are_ high elves in the Prince ancestral line. However, since my mother was the last of the line, I never was able to properly research the idea."

Harry gently touched the tips of his ears again. The ear that previously had been damaged by the accident felt strange to him; its surface no longer marred by the scar tissue that had become such a familiar part of his face.

 _Great, if I was vain, this'd be wonderful,_ he thought sourly.

"Isn't there anything that having ears like this can do to actually _help_ me?" Harry asked, gesturing at his ears angrily.

"High elves are historically known for having better than average hearing," Severus answered pensively, his eyebrows drawn together as he pondered the implications of what Harry had asked. "But it is possible that there are certain spells—or potions—that can only be applied to someone with high elf blood ties. I know that such things exist for the goblins, as well as for werewolves," he added with a distasteful sneer.

Harry frowned. That was somewhat promising—sort of.

"Is there somewhere you can look specifically for that kind of information?"

Surprisingly, he saw Severus eyes shift in Moody's direction at his question.

Crossing his arms, Moody answered both questioning looks with, "I got some connections I could try." Suddenly the older man smiled. "Since it's for family, can't say I mind all that much."

 _Family_ , Harry felt a grin appear on his face.

. . .

The rest of Harry and Severus' changes didn't fully manifest themselves until the next day when they returned to their respective classes.

Harry was standing in the hallway outside of Potions when he noticed something _different_ about his surroundings. The ground underneath him seemed to be unusually _receptive_ to the movements of the others around him; almost as if he were standing in his old worn out shoes, but more noticeable than that. He watched in silence as Weasley and a few of his friends ran down the hall toward him, feeling the stone under his feet rumble deeply. He looked away from the Gryffindors, but he could still feel their movements.

Later, during class, he was nearly overwhelmed by the surplus of scents that surrounded him. It was as though he could smell each of his classmates individually, but not necessarily in a negative way. Hermione smelled a bit like old books and peaches; Teddy like crisp air and lemon, which wasn't all that surprising, since that's how he took his tea; Neville smelled like fresh dirt and clean hair; while Weasley smelled like old socks and chocolate. It was a confusing mix of scents that seemed to be made worse by his classmates close proximity to him, not to mention the smell of many ingredients that normally permeated the air.

At one point, Severus caught his eye and he looked up to see his _father_ looking at him in veiled concern.

 _I'll be okay_ , he tried to think at him, not at all sure if the man would be able to understand. He was still learning about occlumency, and wasn't entirely sure yet of what was possible and what was not.

However, his silent message was met with a very discreet nod, and he turned his attention back to his cauldron, content for the moment.

It was little surprise that his father called for him to stay after class.

. . .

Teddy was waiting patiently in the hallway for Harry to finish meeting with Severus when he heard a familiar voice call out his name.

"Waiting for your pet Potter?" Weasley taunted, sauntering right up to him.

Teddy levelled a glare on him that would have sent a sensible person scrambling. Unfortunately, Weasley was anything _but_.

"Haven't you got something better to do? Like studying? Trust me when I tell you the professors aren't going to pass you on your looks alone," Teddy retorted with a disdainful twist of his lips, his eyes travelling over the other boy's worn and food splattered robes in disgust.

"You should be more careful, Notty boy," Weasley spat, shoving Teddy hard in the centre of his chest.

"And what if he isn't?" Another voice—a much deeper voice—interjected itself from behind Weasley.

Teddy found some satisfaction in watching Weasley spin around, his overly tall body off balance from the sudden movement as he turned to see who had spoken.

A glaring Alastor Moody stood behind him, his wand already in hand as he began stomping toward them. Weasley gulped loudly and tried to back up against him, but Teddy sidestepped him easily and circled back around to stand next to Moody.

"You and me are gonna have a chat, and then we're flooing to your home and talkin' wit' your mum and dad," Moody growled, grabbing Weasley by his neck and pulling him down the corridor.

"For what!?" Teddy heard Weasley whinge.

"Pickin' fights, acting like a right arse," Moody responded, turning the corner with his red haired charge, and leaving Teddy's sight.

A moment later, the door to Snape's classroom creaked open and Harry found the unusual sight of a grinning Teddy waiting for him.

"What'd I miss?" Harry asked, looking at him curiously.

A dark shadow appeared behind him, and Teddy nodded up at Severus as he came to stand beside them.

"Weasley tried to start something and Moody showed him otherwise," he explained, his smile not diminishing one iota.

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked upwards at his words and Severus gave a soft snort.

"Wouldn't mind bein' a fly on _that_ wall _,_ " Harry murmured, flashing a short grin up at his father.

"Being a Gryffindor," Severus slowly theorized, "It is likely that the entire story will be all over the castle by suppertime."

Teddy and Harry smiled at each other.

. . .

 _Harry isn't the only one experiencing changes,_ Severus mused as he stalked down the hallway toward the staff room.

The witches in the castle—and some of the wizards as well!—kept giving him double looks as they passed him in the hallways, almost as if they couldn't really believe what they were seeing. His hair, although less greasy than it had been in the past, had also become slightly wavy, and slightly lighter, as Harry had pointed out.

"You look nice today, Severus," Minerva greeted him stiffly as he stepped into the staff room at long last.

With a small smile, he nodded back at her.

"You do look different, Severus," Filius quipped from where he was seated on a stool by his left elbow. "Have you changed your—," rather abruptly the little man cut off and blushed. "I mean, that is—forget I asked, Severus. It really was none of my business."

"No, there isn't a need to apologize, Filius," Severus answered good naturedly.

_Who knew that gaining a son—and a father—could make me feel such contentment?_

It was peculiar, and he hoped that such overwhelming feelings subsided soon, preferably before he made a fool of himself.

"As a matter of fact, I have developed a new means of protecting my hair against the destructive fumes of my Potions."

Well, that wasn't _exactly_ a lie, now was it? It was true—at least at a certain level.

"Then may I compliment you on your success!" Filius squeaked, raising an imaginary cup in his direction.

"Thank you," he answered demurely, before heading toward the coffee machine.

Once he had a full cup, he found a dark corner of the room and sat down, breathing deeply of the rich aroma that was before him. It was strange, but he was beginning to understand what Moody had meant about being able to read others' emotions. As a Slytherin—and a spy—he had developed the skill on his own to a fine level, but this was something else altogether.

He looked around and saw that like the rich smelling steam coming from his coffee cup, there also seemed to be similar visual elements trailing behind each of his co-workers. Each of his co-workers was surrounded in various vibrant coloured mists that seemingly represented some facet of their personality to his casually wandering eyes.

Unsurprisingly, Minerva had a great deal of red in hers— _I suppose they must be auras of some kind,_ he mused. Even without any study in the topic, he instinctively understood that Minerva's colour meant she was guided very strongly by her emotions and her heart. In contrast then, Filius' aura was distinctly cooler, the silvers and bluish greens in it mixing together to provide a very pleasant aesthetic presentation.

In the midst of his musings, the door to the staff room opened again, and Severus nearly choked on his coffee. There in the doorway stood Quirrell, and despite the shy and stuttering persona the man tried to present to the rest of the world, Severus could now see that something was very very wrong with him.


	21. What's Wrong?

Quirrell's aura was black with rot and replete with festering, _oozing_ sores. Severus quickly found his appetite for his coffee gone, and vaguely wondered why the others in the room didn't feel the same.

Abandoning his cup, he stood up and edged toward the door, pressing himself against the wall furthest from Quirrell in order to get there.

 _Moody, must get Moody_ , his thoughts yammered at him in careless disarray as he strode quickly down the hall back toward his quarters.

Harry was _not_ going back to Defence, even if he had to bring up the illicit adoption ceremony to make it happen. Harry could not go back in the presence of a man that Severus could barely stand to look at. How could Dumbledore not see it?

_What if he had?_

The thought stopped him cold just outside the portrait to his quarters, and he was forced to lean against the cold stone wall lest he topple onto the floor.

_What if he had seen through the disguise that Quirrell wore and still allowed him inside the school?_

The sound of increasingly jagged footsteps, and then, "Snape? Yeh look sick." Moody's hand on his arm, and he could barely work up the energy and focus to sneer back at the man. He felt himself being led into his quarters and then deposited none too gently on the sofa within.

The memory of the rotting mess that was left of Quirrell's soul assaulted Severus' mental eye and he grimaced, feeling bile rising in his throat unbidden. He swallowed hard and turned toward Moody, who was still standing in front of him, eyeing him with what could almost be an air of concern.

"Yeh look as though yeh've seen an inferi, Snape," Moody remarked.

He suddenly became aware that he was trembling. There was sweat on beading on his forehead and under his arms and even between his toes, but it was a cold sweat, and it wasn't dissipating, even with the distance.

_Have we really been allowing that monster access to our children? Did Dumbledore truly think he could get away with it? But what was he really trying to get away with?_

"The blanket, Moody," Severus quickly gestured toward the blanket that was draped over the back of a nearby chair and was pleased to see the other man physically hobble over to it, instead of simply summoning it.

The blanket around his shoulders was followed by a cup of steaming tea with a healthy dollop of something from Moody's hip flask, and suddenly Severus felt himself unwinding and his insides unclenching.

"Thank you," he said softly when he could finally reach for the cup without his fingers visibly shaking.

Moody, who had taken the chair opposite him with a similarly made cuppa, nodded in return and then leaned forward. "Here?"

Severus nodded and took another healthy gulp of his drink. "Quirrell," he managed.

"That little bastard of a professor?"

In an earlier time, Severus might have snorted, but it wasn't that sort of situation now.

"He is . . . tainted," Severus answered slowly, his brow furrowed as he tried to explain what he had seen.

"How could yeh tell?"

"My hair is not the only thing that has changed since the ceremony. I have also begun seeing what I can only assume are auras."

Moody's eye took on a distant look at his words. Severus leaned back more comfortably against the cushions behind him, and took another healthy sip of his alcohol-laced tea as he waited for a response.

"My granny could see somethin' like that. She called 'em her 'colours,' but I s'pect they're the same thing. She was a damned fine judge of character and knew—she _knew,_ Snape—when someone was to be trusted and when they weren't." Abruptly, Moody shifted and shook his head; an action which served to bring his expression back to the present.

"Dumbledore _had_ to have known about Quirrell when he hired him. Why would he have left something, something like _that_ on the school grounds around the children?"

Moody's face creased into a dark frown and didn't answer. There was no good response for something that shouldn't have happened to begin with.

. . .

The next morning after Charms, Teddy and Harry were met outside their classroom by none other than Hermione Granger—a _glaring_ Hermione Granger.

"It's not my fault," was the first thing Harry said upon sighting the disgruntled Gryffindor female.

"I need a word with you," she snapped, before grabbing his arm and pulling him in the direction of the library.

"What am I?" Teddy called out after them, only slightly disgruntled. "Chopped liver?"

Interestingly enough, Harry had been able to hear enough to know that his friend had _said_ something, though he had been forced to ask Hermione precisely what it had been.

Other than that, Hermione had been strangely tight lipped as they walked toward the library, and it wasn't until they were ensconced in a private corner in the back that she finally did open her mouth.

"Explain."

He raised an eyebrow in a manner very much reminiscent of Professor Snape, but only got an exaggerated eye roll for his efforts.

"What do you want to know?" He offered, leaning back in his armchair and stretching out his real leg comfortably.

"The ears?" Hermione asked, jabbing her finger at him sharply with the question. "Your sudden ability to hear new ranges of sound? Either of these ring a bell?"

Harry cracked a real smile back at her, and mentally patted himself on the back for picking such a good friend.

"Stop grinning at me and answer the damn question," she hissed back, no longer truly intimidated by him.

"You know what Hermione? I like you."

"I know _that_ ," Hermione answered waspishly, her expression softening only slightly.

"How?" Harry blinked questioningly at her. He knew she was smart, but he still wanted to know how she knew.

"Because you put up with me, that's how. Now answer my question!" Hermione shot back, clearly exasperated.

Harry looked at her calculatingly for another moment before nodding and standing up. Putting his left hand up, he silenced her protests with a single look.

"I will answer your question, but I can't do it here. The walls have ears," he said simply, glancing at the large number of portraits that surrounded them, even in the back of the library.

. . .

They made it back to Snape's quarters in record time. Harry showed Hermione several secret pathways that Moody had taught him and Hermione promised to show him a few that she had come across on her own. It was a fair trade off.

"Professor Snape?" He asked in surprise when he found his father and Moody talking in a surprisingly civil and serious manner.

"Harry," Severus greeted him softly and he could see a brief flash of what looked like concern in his father's eyes.

"What's going on?" He asked, leaning on his crutch as he watched the silent interplay between the two men in the room.

"The same could be asked about yeh too, lad," Moody countered, turning toward him so that he could see what the older man was saying.

Harry shrugged and figuratively laid his cards on the table. "Hermione noticed the ears. I told her I couldn't tell her how they came about unless we were somewhere safe. You don't mind, right?"

 _You don't mind that I tell her how I managed to find a family?_ Was what he didn't say.

Instead, his father took the choice from him and stated, "Miss Granger. I recently adopted Harry through an ancient blood magic potion that is now considered illegal in our day and age. Harry's ears and senses have been augmented thanks to various magical creature ties in my familial history."

Harry would cherish the memory of the look on Hermione's face for the rest of his life. She was completely gobsmacked at his father's openness and was briefly without words.

"Is it safe?" She finally asked in a voice not much above a whisper.

"The adoption? Quite so," was Severus' curt answer.

"No, I mean, is it safe to tell me?" Was Hermione's astute question.

Harry noted with some interest the discrete nod that his father sent in his direction. Clearly the man agreed with him on the merits of having a friend such as her.

"As a matter of fact, it is not; which is why I shall be insisting that you agree to a magical oath of silence on the subject before you leave our quarters."

Harry could tell that Hermione had caught onto Severus' use of the word, "our" and he very nearly blushed as she smiled happily at him.

"I'm so very happy for you, Harry," was all she said.

"Thank you," he answered, drawing himself up into a posture more like his father's.

. . .

It wasn't until Severus had gotten her to agree to the magical oath and then sent her on her way that Harry was able to find out what they had been discussing prior to his and Hermione's arrival.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, not liking the way his father's eyes flicked over to Moody's face at his question.

"Take a seat, Harry," Severus gestured at the sofa cushion next to his own and Harry swiftly made his way across the room.

There was a rumble of indiscernible sound beside him and he looked up in time to see Moody grinning back at his father.

"What?" He demanded, looking every bit the arrogant Slytherin, but with an uncomfortable sensation inside his chest.

"Don't get yeh pants in a twist, lad," Moody warned, seeing through his behaviour easily. "Snape was just pointin' out how different your limp is when you're alone with us."

Harry stiffened. He hadn't realised that he had been walking differently.

"Worse or better?" He asked, turning to father.

"Better," Severus answered, reaching out a hand and wrapping it around Harry's. "It is only when you are surrounded by the masses does it get worse. I had thought you were doing it on purpose, but as your latest reaction shows, that clearly is not the case."

Harry shook his head. It was yet another thing that bore thought, but not at the moment.

"Why were you and Moody so serious when we walked in?" He asked directly, not wanting to be at the centre of any more discussions.

"Quirrell," his father responded, briefly squeezing his hand tighter with the omission.

Something cold dropped in his gut and he openly grimaced. "I don't like him," he managed to admit.

"That's a good thing," Severus answered calmly. "Because we do not like him either."

"You two finally managed to agree on something?" Harry asked, letting a bit of incredulity creep into his expression.

Moody shifted impatiently on the seat in front of them, and Harry glanced at him in time for the older to make a comment. "We agreed on you too, lad."

He briefly ducked his head at Moody's candid words and ruthlessly suppressed a wave of fresh emotion. He wasn't used to getting such undiluted attention from one adult, let alone two. It was far too close to being overwhelming, and he didn't like the out of control feeling that came with that.

"Yeah well, can't help it if you two were both out of your minds at the same time," he finally said, staring off into the space between Moody and Severus.

A sharp poke in his shoulder brought his attention back to his now scowling father and he crumpled a bit at the sight.

"You were one of the best decisions I have ever allowed myself to make, and you will not dissuade me of that opinion. Understood?" Severus asked, still staring unblinkingly at him.

Harry swallowed hard and then nodded.

"So, what's wrong with Quirrell?"

According to Severus, Harry soon found out, there wasn't much that _wasn't_ wrong with Quirrell. His father's description of an old, decrepit, rotting husk of a soul had Harry's stomach turning as he was reminded of his physical state directly following the "accident."

Luckily, Severus correctly interpreted his look of distaste and intervened in Harry's thought process before he could spiral any more out of control.

"I can see your aura as well, son, and as much as you may consider yourself broken, your soul is anything but."

Harry blinked hard, his left eye threatening to spill tears as he watched his father speak. There was no deceit in Severus' face, and he knew the man wasn't one for making overly sentimental comments, regardless of the situation.

"Thank you," he managed in a voice that he imagined was quieter than his usual.

Severus merely nodded and squeezed his hand again. In turn, Harry scooted slightly closer to his father and leaned against his arm, soaking in the warmth that seemed to radiate outward from the man's body. Though unable to see auras like his adopted father, he didn't have to think very hard to envision what Severus' might look like.

 _Strong, loyal, smart and snarky; just like a Hogwart's professor should be,_ was his amusing thought.


	22. An Old Friend

"As much as I'd like you to pull me and Teddy from Defence, you know you can't do it. It's too obvious," Harry said; shrugging when Moody jerked in what he assumed was a snort.

"Then what would you suggest, oh wise son of mine?" Severus pressed, raising his eyebrow in an all too familiar way.

"Take out all of the first year Slytherins."

Severus nodded at Moody as though he were saying, _'See? He recognizes the difficulty too.'_

"Just the first year Slytherins, Harry?" Moody countered, his eye glinting almost as maniacally as his constantly swirling one.

"It'd be pretty suspicious with any more, wouldn't it?" Harry countered.

Moody's eye narrowed thoughtfully. "Actually lad—," he stopped and turned his attention to Severus. "Didn't Slughorn do somethin' like that back in the day? Pull all of his house out for some reason or another? I seem to be rememberin' Dumbledore getting' his knickers in a twist over it."

Severus snorted at Moody's description but then calmed himself and nodded. "He pulled all of us from Transfiguration for three weeks during my 4th year."

Harry frowned and looked at his father. "Why did he do that?"

"There was a fight in her 7th year class between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. The Gryffindor made a number of unfounded accusations regarding the Slytherin's loyalties, and in response, the girl hexed him."

"Seems pretty normal," Harry suggested slowly.

"All except Minerva's response, it was. She gave the Slytherin detention, but did not punish the Gryffindor."

"Why does that sound familiar?" Harry asked with a grin, eyeing his father.

"Ah," Severus answered, holding up a long finger, "But there is more. On the way out the door, the Gryffindor laughed and called the girl the 'Dark Lord's _whore_.'"

Harry felt his jaw drop slightly. "McGonagall didn't do anything about that? Not even take points?"

"Not one thing. Slughorn insisted that Minerva punish the boy in question, and when she did not, he pulled his entire house from attending her classes for the next three weeks. It might have gone on indefinitely, if not for Dumbledore's intervention."

At the mention of the headmaster, Harry's mouth twisted into a snarl and he crossed his arms defensively in front of him. "He waited three weeks? I bet he agreed with McGonagall and only got involved because someone else made him."

"Something like that, lad," Moody said after touching his shoulder to get his attention.

"Does that mean you could pull all of the Slytherins from Defence then? Wouldn't you have to have had some kind of argument with Quirrell?"

"I suspect I could merely cite his incompetence and leave it at that," Severus said with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"O' course," Moody interjected, none of this matters if we can't find a way to teach the class."

"You wouldn't have time with all of us, would you," Harry asked Severus, his lips pressed together in concern.

"I would not," Severus agreed.

"And Grandfather can't do it, since you two don't give a crap about one another," Harry murmured, putting his head in his hand and missing Moody's surprised expression.

"Not without a great deal of vocal opposition from me," Severus said, mostly to himself. He leaned over to where Harry was seated beside him and touched his shoulder to get his attention again. "What are you thinking?"

Harry looked at his father with a thoughtful expression on his face. "What if you _did_ try to teach all of the classes yourself—let Dumbles think you're crazy, yeah?"

Severus snorted, but did not yet comment. He leaned back in his seat and waited for the rest of it.

"And what if Moody were to find you at it and raise a big stink with Dumbles about the _horrible Death Eater_ _teaching dark arts to the young children_?"

The expectant look in Severus' eyes suddenly shifted to calculating, and it was Harry that leaned back to wait this time.

"Moody would need to have a plausible reason for being here at that particular time," Severus said at last.

A detail stuck in Harry's mind and he turned to Moody and asked, "How exactly are you getting away with being here all the time _now?_ "

One side of Moody's weathered face creaked upwards into the semblance of a smile, and he crooked a thumb at Severus. "Albus has got me spying on Snape here."

From the raised eyebrows on his father's face, Harry surmised that Moody hadn't told him about that yet.

"Any particular reason that the old chess master no longer trusts me?" Severus asked; his lips slightly white and his tone strained—though Harry was only aware of the former.

"I 'spect it has somethin' to do with your care of Harry here."

A raised eyebrow was his only response.

"I'm thinkin' he was expecting you to raise a fuss about havin' him in your house; maybe even getting a resorting out of the deal in the process. Only—."

"—Only I managed to put aside my prejudices and look at Harry's needs, as opposed to his pedigree," Severus interjected with a frown.

Wanting to divert the discussion away from himself and back onto the problem at hand, Harry said, "Well, then that means we have a plausible reason for Moody's presence."

"How often are you slated to be here at the castle?" Severus asked, flicking his eyes once in Harry's direction as though to say that, 'Yes, I am aware that you're deflecting us.'

Moody grinned that same grin once more and opened his hands out in front of him. "Why Severus, I didn't know you cared."

At Severus' scowl though, he continued, "As it happens, Albus has assigned me quarters just a few corridors away from here."

"And you were going to tell us when?" Severus snapped back, his mouth moving almost too fast for Harry's eyes to track.

"Oh come off it Severus, it's not like yeh don't have secrets of your own," Moody responded.

"You should have told us," Harry said, feeling more on the side of his father than his grandfather. He knew what it was like to be betrayed by supposed family members.

"Listen then," Moody leaned forward. "I didn't tell yeh, 'cause I didn't want to say nothing until this was official," he said, waving his hand toward them. "Didn't want ta take no chances of something goin' wrong."

Harry leaned back, somewhat mollified by Moody's words.

"And it is acceptable to you if something goes wrong now?" Severus carefully asked.

"All told, I'd rather Albus kept his crooked nose out of it for the foreseeable future. But you and I both know that the chances of that ain't likely. He's got his finger on the pulse of this castle, though you have ta know he isn't omniscient. He's got spies everywhere; even a few that aren't aware they're spies."

"The walls are listening," Harry said, thinking aloud, once more reminded of Severus' words from earlier that year.

"Aye, lad, that they are," Moody answered, his whirling eye briefly settling on Harry's face in an unnerving way.

. . .

"Ah Remus, it's good to see you," Albus Dumbledore greeted him as he stepped through the floo. "Please, have a seat."

Remus sat down in a squashy armchair a few feet away from Dumbledore's desk and a moment later a cup of steaming tea appeared by his right hand. He took it and sipped carefully, using his werewolf senses to check for hidden potions. Finding none, he smiled and allowed himself to relax into the chair a bit.

"How may I help, headmaster?" He asked. He had gotten an owl from Dumbledore early that morning asking him to come to Hogwarts as soon as he had a chance. The only other thing mentioned was a vague reference to his use in aiding the child of one of his old classmates, but he had a feeling it had to do with Harry. He hoped the boy wasn't in any kind of trouble. He had seen the copy of Daily Prophet the day after the first of term, and had been rather surprised to find that the boy had been sorted into Slytherin.

 _Then again_ , he thought with a touch of amusement, _James was rather sneaky himself! If not for the pureblood mania, he might have done well there too._

"I asked you to come in the hopes that you might be able to provide something of a mentorship with young Harry Potter," Albus said from his seat behind his desk. The old man's hands were folded atop its wooden surface, and he looked every bit the role of an elderly grandfather smiling down benevolently upon one of his children.

To be truthful, Dumbledore's grandfatherly image had always inspired a bit of wariness within Remus. He had also seen this man angry, and the two visages were completely at odds with one another.

"Has Severus not welcomed him within the house?" Remus asked, probing for the actual reason behind Dumbledore's request.

"No, no," Dumbledore answered with a chuckle. "Nothing like that. Severus has been every bit as supportive as he ever is with one of his snakes. It's simply that," the man paused and spread his hands out. "Harry has no connections with his past; no ties to any of his own history, other than what the newspapers print, and you know how many times they actually get anywhere _near_ the truth." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled kindly behind his half-moon glasses and Remus nodded in agreement.

"I was simply wondering if you could spend a little time getting to know the boy. Perhaps you could take a room here for a week or two—," Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall any complaints Remus might have had. "No, I know that you think you shouldn't be able to live here for free, but this is just you doing a favour for an old man." The man smiled and pulled out a package of lemon drops from inside his robe. "Lemon drop, my boy? My apologies for not offering them sooner."

"No, thank you, headmaster," Remus declined.

"I believe that Harry would benefit from getting to know one of his father's old friends. Perhaps you could tell him a few stories about his days here at Hogwarts? I believe that Harry is quite a talented flyer, much like James was."

"How will this benefit Harry? I don't want to drag up any bad memories for him," Remus said slowly, still not entirely certain of why Dumbledore wanted him here.

"I want to establish a support system for him outside of the Slytherins," Dumbledore said gravely, his eyes no longer twinkling. "I think that regardless of their current support of the boy, we both know what they're like under pressure, and I have no desire to see him hurt in the process."

 _And what are they like 'under pressure?'_ Remus thought with his eyes carefully diverted from Dumbledore's own piercing blue gaze. He could think of more than a few Gryffindors that had buckled under pressure, but he didn't want to remember those things.

"And what if he is not willing to talk with me?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer just as a knock sounded at the door.

. . .

An out of breath 4th year Hufflepuff had interrupted McGonagall's 1st year Slytherin/Gryffindor class to tell Harry that the headmaster had requested his presence in his office.

"The password is 'Rolos,'" the girl had told him after he had exited the classroom, his bag draped over his shoulder.

"Thanks," he'd responded, feeling his palms becoming sweaty at the idea of facing Dumbles straight on.

He had exchanged a worried look with Hermione and Teddy for half a second before quickly gathering his things. McGonagall had only stared at him and he'd ducked his head to avoid her eyes.

Unbeknownst to him, only a minute after he had left, Hermione Granger requested to go to the toilet. Once out of the classroom though, she ran as hard as she had dared over uneven stones and stairwells all the way down to the dungeons where Professor Snape was teaching a mixed Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw 2nd year class.

One look at her face and heaving chest and he'd immediately cancelled the class, leaving a number of bewildered badgers and 'claws to clean up their stations without supervision.

"Harry's been called to the headmaster's office," she gasped out when he'd met her in the hallway.

"To what purpose?" He asked tersely, already walking at a fast pace back in that direction.

She could only shake her head and with a muttered curse, he had left her at a run.

. . .

His heart pounding wildly, Harry rode the stairwell up to what he presumed was the headmaster's office. He had knocked and had to stifle a wild burst of laughter when he realised he would not be able to hear a response. Thankfully, fate was looking down on him and the door opened on its own seconds later.

"Ah, Harry m'boy," Dumbles had said, from what Harry could see through the man's whiskers.

A heavy ball of dread settling firmly into his stomach, he crossed the threshold, somewhat surprised at seeing another man in the room as well.

"I'd like you to meet—."

"Remus Lupin," the unknown man interrupted, stepping forward to extend a hand to Harry.

He shook it lightly, not liking the other man's proximity one bit. Panic—and no small amount of fury at the sight of his ultimate betrayer—was fighting to burst through his body and he had to clench every muscle down in his body to keep from destroying the room with his magic. Somehow, he doubted that the wizarding world would look very kindly upon anyone who killed Dumbledore, no matter the reason.

 _Assuming he_ can _be killed_ , Harry thought wildly, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes by focusing instead on the pale man in front of him.

"I went to school with your father, Harry," the man told him, waving a hand as though to invite him further into the room.

 _Severus?_ Was his immediate thought before he mentally slapped himself.

He leaned carefully on his crutch and tried to come up with a plausible reason for his leaving the office. Perhaps he could claim sickness? He certainly felt sick. Dumbledore was staring— _staring_ —at him and the other man was talking again, though he couldn't really focus on what he was saying. Something about Hogwarts and old friends and that 'how you've grown' bullshit that he'd come to expect with "Aunt" Marge and Dudley.

_Perhaps he's family? But if that's so, why didn't he take me instead of leaving me at the Dursleys?_

He didn't know what to think, but luckily he didn't have to, because a moment later something clunked underfoot and he turned around to see his father entering the room.

. . .

Harry stared up at him with a wild abandon that Severus remembered from the day he had broken down during one of their private lessons. He was out of breath, having run nearly the entire way here, but he was doing a good job of keeping it under wraps. He had cast a cooling charm seconds before entering and he hoped that it would keep his complexion at its normal sallow state.

"Ah Severus, what a pleasant surprise," Dumbledore said merrily, as though he hadn't been involved in a private meeting with one of _his_ first years.

"Headmaster," Severus greeted with an inclined head. "I believe we agreed that I would always be informed about any meetings between yourself and one of my underage students?" He said, hiding his fury the conniving old bastard behind several deep level mental shields. Stepping forward, he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. He could feel the child's tremors through his shoulder and his fury only grew.

"He's not in any trouble, Severus," Dumbledore cajoled. "Just a friendly meeting between him and an old friend."

 _Ah yes, the werewolf_ , Severus thought, eyeing the other man with disdain. _Old friend, my half-blooded arse_.

"Regardless, I insist that in the future I am given warning about any clandestine meetings you have planned with any of my snakes, and that we schedule them together accordingly."

"Severus, my boy, always the paranoid one," Dumbledore teased with a glance at Remus. "Perhaps you gentlemen would like to take a walk then? I must excuse myself. The paperwork grows whenever I look away."

Severus turned Harry toward the door and then followed after him, not even looking back to see if the werewolf was following. He would just as soon he didn't.

Unfortunately, Lupin's presence reasserted itself beside them as soon as they were on level ground.

"So, Harry, may I call you Harry?" Lupin tried, but with Severus in-between them, Harry couldn't possibly be expected to see what the man was saying.

"Must we really do this now, Lupin?" Severus growled, shooting a hard glare at the man to his left. He glanced down at Harry and mentally swore at the boy's pale face and sweat tinged hairline.

"I think it would be beneficial to Harry," Lupin responded defiantly, his amber eyes glowing in challenge.

"Do you now," Severus sneered. "Then I suggest we do it in private," he added, pointing at an abandoned classroom to their right.

"We, Severus?"

"I'm certainly not going to leave you alone with him," was his scowled response. _Gryffindors!_ He had hoped that Lupin would be smarter than to walk into a private room with a "retired" Death Eater, but clearly the man was more dunderheaded than he had thought, because he followed without another word.

The man merely watched as Severus laid a number of privacy wards upon the door behind them and then took a seat in one of the dusty desks scattered throughout the room.

With a look of disdain, Severus waved his wand over two of the more stable looking desks and muttered a cleaning charm. Then he transfigured them into two straight backed chairs and indicated that Harry should take a seat. He had arranged them so they were all sitting at an angle to one another, in the hope that Harry would be able to follow the conversation—if he so desired. Severus certainly wished he could ignore it all.

"What's going on, Severus? More importantly, what happened to him?" Remus started with, his congenial tone giving away to something a little more wild.

Severus shuddered internally at the thought, but kept his outer image calm. No need to show fear to the creature, after all.

. . .

Harry zoned out a bit as Severus explained—rather tersely—about some of his injuries.

He remembered the old condemned apartment house he had been living in when Moody had tracked him down.

" _Is that you, Harry?" The older man had asked after limping in with all the stealth of a dying hippopotamus._

" _Who's asking?" He'd been upright immediately, a wooden crutch under his right arm even though his balance was nearly perfect. It helped to look weak; it made people assume things and he took great delight in showing them how very wrong they'd been._

_The weight of one of his knives was hidden in his sleeve and he had a dozen more across his body. He was used to fighting for his home._

" _Name is Moody," The grizzled old man said, eyeing him like he was a wild animal. "I've been lookin' for you."_

" _How d'ya know you've got who you're looking for?" He'd reasoned as he fingered his knife and imagined where he'd strike if the man came any closer._

_The man smiled and Harry had narrowed his eyes, ready to escape if he turned out to be here for something other than just a fight._

" _Your scar, lad. The one on your forehead," the man had said._

_Automatically, Harry's free hand had gone up to touch the scar that was hidden behind his too-long fringe._

" _What do you want?" He'd ask, watching with some trepidation as the man—Moody—had reached inside one of his coat pockets._

_. . ._

"Cub?"

Harry jerked backwards, not from Remus' voice—which he couldn't hear, but from the settling of unfamiliar fingers on his wrist.

"You don't remember me do you?" Remus asked after quickly removing his fingers.

Harry, still somewhat lost in his memories, shook his head 'no.'

"I called you 'cub' when you were a baby. I used to give you piggyback rides and you'd ride on my shoulders beating a pot with one of your mum's serving spoons. I used to say that you'd cause me to go deaf before my time, but your father would just laugh and say that at least I'd enjoy myself in the process."

Harry felt a sour ball of resentment settle into his stomach as this man talked about what a happy time it had been early on for them all. He didn't remember any happiness. He didn't remember his father or his mother, so why should this man with the ragged robes get to rub his face in it?

"I would have taken you if Albus had let me, but he was adamant about you staying out of the magical world until you were a bit older."

"Why?" Harry asked, confused.

"Surely you know the reason for your fame?"

Harry nodded, feeling that bitter resentment in his chest merely continue to grow.

"Albus always said that he wanted you to have a normal childhood without the extra fuss of being famous," Remus said solemnly, eyeing his crutch and his scars as he spoke.

Harry felt the almost undeniable urge to laugh hysterically and he clamped down on it tightly, lest he completely lose control.

"And you couldn't have given me a normal childhood?" He asked instead, breathing through his nose as he quietly practiced one of the occlumency meditations that Severus had taught him. He could feel the presence of his father next to him; a dark warm being that radiated concern and was ready to jump in the minute he was needed. It helped him keep calm to have him there and he was glad that Severus had insisted on coming.

"I . . . haven't the financial resources to raise a child," Remus explained slowly, causing Harry to narrow his eyes in suspicion.

The Dursleys had certainly never spent very much on him, and while he would have been poor living with Remus at least it would have been _life_.

"Where do you work?"

"I . . ." there was that same hesitancy and Harry wondered just what kind of man this person was. _Was he an alcoholic?_ Vernon had lost promotions because of too many hangovers—despite blaming his problems on Harry.

"I'm a teacher," Remus said finally in the blank silence that seemed to fill Harry's mind.

Harry glanced at Severus and then back at Remus. Severus wasn't rich, but he was comfortable.

"I'm not some rich kid who needed a lot. You could have taken me in. You could have raised me yourself," Harry accused, feeling the let-down of knowing that the Dursleys could have been avoided.

"There are other extenuating circumstances that prevented me from taking on that role. I'm sorry, Harry," Remus said. He certainly looked sorry, but then why was Severus sneering so disdainfully at him?

"Never mind," Harry responded, looking away. "It's doesn't matter. Done is done, right sir?" Harry asked, looking at Severus and trying to ignore the hurt expression on the other man's face.

"It does matter, Harry. If I had known . . ."

"If you had known that I'd be a freak when you next saw me? You would have done something, yeah?" Harry spat, pulling up in his chair and cast steely eyes on this so-called 'friend of his parents.'

"You are no such thing!" Remus protested, his pale cheeks turning pink with anger.

"Tell us what Dumbledore has requested of you," Severus interjected, drawing Remus' attention briefly away from Harry, letting him get in a few steadying breaths.

"Only to get to know Harry," Remus said softly, turning back to give him an inscrutable look. "Albus said that you could do with a few mentors in your life, given your lack of parental figures."

Harry scowled and Remus looked taken back at the dark look on his face.

"I didn't say we had to be friends, even though I would like it. James and I were best friends," Remus said, his large amber eyes looking suspiciously wet. "You are my last link to a trio of friends who are all dead or gone now. The knowledge that you're alive is what has frequently sustained me these past ten years."

Harry scowled more deeply, feeling his magic rearing up inside his chest at the man's words. _Alive_ , _who is he kidding? A life like mine didn't count as living!_

"There were times," Harry bit out harshly against a throat that seemed intent on swelling up. "There were times that I wished for death," his jaw trembling despite his best efforts to maintain control. "Do you understand?" He got to his feet and stalked closer to the man. "Do you understand? I would have rather _died_ than live there. _Rather died_ ," he spat, taking pleasure in the man's white face.

"You can't mean that," Remus whispered. Though Harry could not hear the difference, he could still see the shock on his face.

What did _this_ man know about meaning things? What did this man know about _him_ to make such a suggestion?

Abruptly the magic in his body burst from his control and several desks behind Remus erupted in flames.

Remus jumped up and scrambled away from the maelstrom of fire just as Harry felt Severus' warm hand close gently over his left shoulder. His father didn't have to speak to him as Harry took one steadying breath after the other until the fire died down. This time however, unlike the fire in the infirmary, Harry had actually _burnt_ the desks and their charred remains continued to smoke even after the fire had been extinguished.

Harry turned his head and finally realised that Remus was talking to him.

"—if I could have."

"What?" Harry growled.

"I would have found a way to take you in if only I could have found where Albus had placed you," Remus repeated patiently, his eyes filled with undeniable sorrow.

The hand on his shoulder tightened slightly and Harry turned to look at his father.

"Did you not think to look at Lily's remaining family?" Severus retorted, looking both murderous and calm at the same time. Harry took comfort in being able to tell that the anger was not directed at _him_.

"Of course not! Lily was adamant that he not go there. She made Dumbledore promise not to ever send him there!"

"Gryffindors," Severus sneered. "Always so believing of another's _word_."

Then dawning horror as Remus understood.

"Tell me he didn't," Remus whispered, looking straight at Harry. In turn, Harry shifted uncomfortably under the man's unrelenting gaze.

"Didn't _what?_ " Severus responded when Harry broke eye contact and glanced back at him.

"Dear Merlin," Remus said in a choked voice. Abruptly he began pacing the room, causing Severus to move slightly in front of Harry.

Remus took no notice of them as he strode to the opposite side of the room. Harry could see his fists trembling white knuckled at his sides, but Severus could also hear the low rumblings of curses coming from his mouth.

Suddenly the window beside him imploded and Harry ducked behind his father as Severus hastily threw up a basic shield. Remus himself seemed unaware that there were now a thousand small cuts trickling blood across the right side of his face.

"That bastard!" Remus howled when he finally turned back around. "He swore he would never send him there! Lily knew what they were like, knew that they were barely fit enough to raise their own child, let alone one of ours!"

Harry could hardly believe that the man could be so naïve as to take the ramblings of a madman such as Dumbledore's at face value. After all, _he_ himself had known better at a much earlier age. Was this the difference between Slytherins and Gryffindors? A simple awareness of the issues? He shook his head and snorted bitterly to himself.

"Then you would swear upon your magic that you had no idea that Dumbledore had sent him to that place?" Severus interjected after Remus finally began winding down.

Remus looked him in the eye and said, "I swear it. Upon my magic, I didn't know he would go there. _Anywhere_ would have been better than that. Lily said it herself! 'Send him to live with the house elves, send him to live with Filch! Just don't send him to my ill-begotten sister and her monstrous rat of a husband!'"

There was a brief flicker of sadness that appeared on Severus' face as Harry was watching the two men and then it was gone. Was he sad for him or was it something else? Had his father _known_ his mother? It was a topic worth looking into.

As it was, it would have to wait. Their conference needed to end so that he and his father could get back to their respective classes before they were missed. Harry was sure that Transfiguration was already over, but Charms was due to start any minute and he certainly didn't want to be late for _that_.


	23. A Slight Upset

Severus touched his arm on the way out the door and he turned. "Harry," his father said, his dark eyes searching his face carefully. "I will talk to at the end of classes today." It wasn't a request.

Harry nodded quickly and then then with a glance to Remus, he turned on his heel and limped out the door.

Severus watched him go before turning back to Lupin with a sneer. "You should tell him. He thinks you purposely chose not to take him in. You should tell him the truth."

"I—I don't know how," Lupin admitted haltingly, his amber eyes still haunted after learning some of the truths behind Harry's childhood.

"Then figure it out," Severus snapped, turning his back on the man and striding off toward the dungeons.

"It's not that easy," Lupin answered to the empty room.

. . .

During Charms, Harry couldn't keep his focus. Everything he touched with his wand either went sideways or exploded. Finally, about midway through the disastrous lesson, he shoved his wand up his sleeve and let his head fall to the desk with a clunk.

Beside him, Teddy and a few other Slytherins eyed Harry in concern. Not speaking, they scooted in closer to him, blocking the many prying eyes that surrounded them.

At the end of the lesson, after most of the class had filed out, Flitwick began walking in Harry's direction.

"Excuse me, Professor," Millicent Bulstrode stated, stepping directly in the tiny man's way. "Harry's ours."

Somewhat amused, Flitwick responded. "I mean no harm, Miss Bulstrode. But he is _my_ student as well. What concerns him, concerns me."

Stepping from behind Millicent's much larger form, Harry manage to give the diminutive man a small smile.

"I'm sorry for my lack of focus in class today, sir," he offered in a scratchy voice.

Concerned eyes looked up at him. "These things happen, child. Would you like to have a cup of tea in my office?"

Ducking his head and shifting the majority of his weight over to his left foot, Harry murmured, "No, sir." He looked back up and straightened his shoulders. "I appreciate the concern, but I think I'd better just go talk with Professor Snape. He knows why—I mean, you know. He knows why my head's all messed up today, sir."

"If you are certain," Flitwick answered, keeping his face pointed upward toward his student.

"Yes sir," Harry responded before turning toward his friends. "Thanks for waiting," he said to them.

Filius turned to walk back to his desk, keeping an ear on the three students behind him as they started ambling toward the door. He would check with Severus to make sure Harry had been telling the truth, and perhaps he would find out something more.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely registered the sound of someone knocking on the door to the classroom a few minutes later. Rousing himself, he climbed down from the stack of books on his chair and went to open it. Standing on the other side was none other than Remus Lupin.

"I say!" He squeaked. "This is a surprise. Do come in, Mr Lupin."

 _If Remus and Harry met earlier today, it would go a long way toward explaining Harry's discombobulated state,_ Filius thought to himself as he ushered his former student into the classroom.

"It's just Remus, if you don't mind, Professor."

"Then call me Filius!" He answered cheerily.

They went to the corner of his classroom and Filius opened the door that was magically connected to his office. In order to be closer to his students, the office itself was actually located near the Ravenclaw tower. It helped to have a quiet place in his classroom that he could retreat to when needed. From inside his office then, there was another door that led off to his personal chambers, much like the one found in Severus' office.

Filius had found it useful to be so closely connected to the everyday lives of his students.

Once inside his office, he shut the door and directed Remus to sit whilst he started the tea kettle.

"I like magic as next as the next person, but there are some things that call for the manual way, and making tea is one of those," Filius shared with a wink. "Oh and if you're looking for Harry, I'd say that you just missed him."

"Actually, Pro—Filius," Remus smiled at his own slip, "I saw Harry in the hallway out his way out. And he's the reason I've come to talk to you today."

"Oh?" Filius asked, his quick mind suddenly whirring at the implications.

"What can you tell me about him?"

Filius frowned in thought as he passed Remus a cup of tea and poured his own. "What do you want to know?"

Remus audibly sighed and Filius watched him carefully.

"What's he like, how does he do in class, is he anything like his parents . . . things of that nature," Remus answered in a rush.

Filius put his half-drunk cup of tea down beside him and steepled his fingers under his chin.

"Mr Potter is one of the brightest first year students I've ever had the pleasure of teaching," Filius answered, trying to ignore the urge to laugh at Remus' gobsmacked expression.

"Are you certain? Prof—Minerva went on and on about him being little more than a half-wit."

At this, Filius' previous amused feeling evaporated and he scowled deeply, dropping his hands into his lap. "I would normally not presume to speak ill of a colleague, but I am beginning to feel that Minerva might be better off retiring now before she makes a complete fool of herself."

Remus' eyebrows rose dramatically at his words and he sighed. "I would appreciate it greatly if you did not repeat those words to her," Filius added, raising a severe eyebrow when the other man did not immediately respond.

He would never tell anyone, but he had secrecy spells woven into the wards of his office and his personal area specifically for conversations such as these. All he needed was a verbal consent and they would take hold. Otherwise . . . well, there were a few lower level memory spells that weren't nearly as traceable as _Obliviate._

 _After all,_ Filius mused, _Severus doesn't have a monopoly on secretiveness._

"I promise that I will keep your words private," Remus answered slowly after a few tense heartbeats.

"Thank you," Filius answered softly. "As to why I think so, let me explain a bit. Minerva has managed to get her head stuck in the past. She had James Potter and she expected Harry to be like James. When he turned out to be wildly different," He paused and tried to determine the best way to make his next comment, "She wasn't ready for it and she's having trouble adjusting to the actual reality of the situation."

Remus nodded his head thoughtfully at his words before asking his next question. "Would Harry have done well in Ravenclaw?"

Filius smiled and relaxed ever so slightly. "Perhaps. Like you, Harry has an interest in learning, but unlike a typical Ravenclaw, he is not so open about his reasons for doing so."

. . .

After briefly seeing Lupin in the hallway, Harry, Teddy and Millicent walked a fair ways in silence before anything else was said.

Stopping suddenly, Harry turned toward his fellow Slytherins and motioned them into a hidden corridor behind a tapestry of two men playing chess.

"Who was that man, Harry?" Teddy asked tentatively.

"An old friend of my family," Harry answered dismissively before turning to eye Millicent.

"What?" She growled, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively.

"Not that I didn't appreciate the concern," Harry said with a bitter smile, "but why did you help me back in the classroom? We've barely spoken all term. This is all rather sudden."

"We take care of our own," Millicent answered with a frown.

"So why today?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as he fingered the knife in his pocket.

She shrugged and looked away for a moment. Then, "You seemed a little messed up today," she admitted.

Harry felt himself freeze at her words. She thought _he_ seemed a little messed up? Him?

"Just a little?" Harry asked with a hysterical giggle.

In his peripheral, he saw Teddy's eyes widen at the very uncharacteristic sound. For some reason, that made him laugh harder.

First Remus, now Millicent. It was all so unlikely that he had to lean against the wall to catch his breath as the giggles continued to burst from his throat unabated.

"Maybe we should find Professor Snape," Millicent suggested softly to Teddy.

"And leave him alone like this?" Teddy snapped back, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him back into the corridor.

The idea that his two housemates thought him incompetent—even briefly—only added fuel to the fire. He was giggling so hard by the time they finally made it to the dungeons that he couldn't see. In his mind he could see himself talking to Remus, confronting him about why he hadn't taken Harry in as a baby. Next to that, he saw Millicent commenting on his "messed up" state. The two seemed irrevocably entwined and he wondered what would happen if they came across Remus while he was like that. Would he curse the man?

It seemed far too likely.

The familiar smells of his father's quarters reached his nose, and he managed to open his eyes enough to find his own way to the sofa in the sitting room.

"'Messed up' she says," He bit out between giggles, not even realising that his left eye was streaming tears by this point. "'Messed up', he says," He added, his giggles suddenly dying down as his eye lit with rage.

"He doesn't know what messed up is!" He suddenly screamed at the other Snakes. "You see him, you see him and you tell him!" He howled and several empty vials exploded around them, making Millicent and Teddy flinch violently.

"He didn't even try!" Harry added in a scream, reaching up and pulling his glove from his right hand. His missing ring and pinkie fingers glared back at him in his mind as he threw himself to the sofa. He yanked up his trouser leg and undid his leg with a growl, tossing it to the floor.

"He didn't bother to even give a fuck!" Harry screamed, not caring that Millicent and Teddy were both staring at him with wide eyes.

"He could have stopped it all, could have given me a bloody home but damn it!" The fire in the grate roared up nearly to the ceiling and smoke swirled violently around the room. He hopped to his foot and howled at the ceiling.

He was back in the car, back in the fire, back in the middle of the pain when suddenly a strong warm hand clamped down around his shoulder and he whirled around to find a black presence standing behind him.

"Dad!" He choked out, his left eye once more dripping with tears.

"Harry," Snape rumbled toward him. "You need to breathe."

. . .

Teddy and Millicent hurried through the halls back from Professor Snape's classroom. He had sent them to get a particular calming draught from his stores, and even though they knew he was just trying to get them out of the way, they still hurried.

Less than fifteen minutes had passed after Snape had walked into find his quarters nearly on fire and filled with broken glass and frightened students. Teddy and Millicent returned from their errand and walked slowly into his quarters, both uncertain about what they might see upon their return.

The broken glass had been vanished, as had the smoke and they found a trembling Harry pressed up against Severus' side in the middle of the sitting room.

Silently, Teddy handed Severus the calming draught and then watched as his head of house slowly administered it to Harry. Moments later, Harry sagged and Severus easily manoeuvred him onto the sofa. Gently, Severus summoned a soft blanket from the other room and covered Harry's small form up, lifting the glasses from his face and pocketing them before straightening up and turning around.

"Either of you care to explain?"

It was Millicent who answered, flying through the explanation of what had happened that day in Charms and afterwards.

"Harry did have a good point though," Teddy said when her words finally slowed to a halt. “Why _did_ you help him?” 

"Because Harry doesn't laugh at me like everyone else."

"I don't laugh at you," Teddy answered defensively.

"Yeah, and if you had been the one upset, I would have helped too. You and Harry and sometimes Blaise are the only ones in our year who doesn't look at me like I'm trash."

Silence met her words.

"Why didn't you speak with me about this before now?" Severus asked gently.

Millicent shrugged and looked away, her eyes suspiciously wet.

"Used to it, I guess," was her answer after several quiet moments.

"That is no reason to be silent, little Snake," Severus answered, absently sitting and rubbing a hand over his face. "There will be a house meeting soon anyway, to discuss some pertinent business," He said, looking at Teddy. Teddy gave a nod of understanding. "We will find time to discuss this matter with the house."

"Please don't tell them I said anything," Millicent whispered worriedly.

"You will be there and I will say nothing of you, I swear it." Severus assured her. "Don't be so worried. Your head of house knows what he is doing," He added with a wan smile.

. . .

Sometime later, Severus looked up at the sound of the door opening and closing. Disjointed footsteps made their way toward him and he sighed. _Moody._ He rolled his eyes and cracked his neck to the side. He glanced back down at the Potions journal in his lap and then back at Harry. The boy was still asleep and Severus had spent much of the last hour next to him, stroking a tattered sock and thinking dark thoughts about the lack of honourable Gryffindors in the world.

"Remind me to buy Harry some new socks," Severus said to Moody in greeting, his eyes still fixed on the journal.

"That bad, eh?"

"Actually, his entire wardrobe could use an overhaul. Why don't you do something grandfatherly and take him out shopping for new clothes?" Snape looked up finally and fixed a beady eyed stare at Moody.

"Me?" Moody asked, looking dubious as he glanced down at his own worn and out-of-date robes.

"Hm, you may have a point. Perhaps you should just fund the endeavour and I'll take him shopping."

"That I can do," Moody answered brightly, his real eye glancing over at Harry with obvious concern. "Is the lad all right?"

"He had a rather severe upset this afternoon. His friends had the presence of mind to bring him back here. It took me nearly fifteen minutes to calm him down enough to drink a calming draught. From there, he fell asleep."

"Moody's are big on huggin', you know," was Moody's wry comment.

"Then take comfort in the knowledge that the family tradition was upheld," Severus answered softly, looking back down at his boy.


	24. Betrayal

Harry fiddled with his cloak nervously as he stood in the middle of the sitting room waiting on Severus. His father had told him to dress appropriately for cold weather, because they were going shopping. A part of Harry couldn't believe that he was actually going somewhere with his _father_ ; while another part of him feared that he would do something inexcusably idiotic while out in public.

Severus' hand touched his shoulder and he turned to look at the man.

"Ready?" His father asked.

Mutely, Harry nodded and grasped his crutch.

"Apparition would be best, but Hogwarts has anti-apparition wards placed all through it. Likewise, a portkey would deliver us directly, but portkeys are hardly easy to manufacture. If I trusted the headmaster . . ." Severus frowned and Harry grit his teeth against the thought. "If I trusted him, then I would simply have him charm one for us. However, given the circumstances, that's not a viable solution."

"How _do_ wizards and witches get along then? Do they all take the train?" Harry asked, feeling almost certain that he knew the answer to his question.

"Grown and single adults typically apparate. Everyone else typically uses the floo," Severus patiently explained.

Harry nodded, silently tucking the knowledge away in his mind.

Severus walked them into the sitting room where the fireplace was and reached for something atop the mantle. It was a small bag filled with something soft that shifted in his father's hands as he moved it into Harry's range of sight.

"This is floo powder," Severus told him after he had taken a moment to stare unblinkingly at it for a moment.

To Harry, it just looked like some kind of thick dust, but his magical senses were prickling in a way that said it was anything but. Oddly enough, the memory of a book he'd read as a child came into his mind and he jerked his head back toward his father.

"C.S. Lewis wasn't a wizard, was he?"

The corner of Severus' lips turned up slightly at his question. "No, C.S. Lewis wasn't a wizard, but he was related to a few. He's what the wizarding world calls a squib. Essentially, it's the opposite of what Miss Granger is; a non-magical born into a magical family."

Harry frowned as he processed that.

"Does that happen often, then?"

"Often enough," Severus said. "Now watch. Only a pinch is needed for one person to travel on. You throw it into the fireplace and then say the name of your destination."

"Which is what?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," Severus told him.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He remembered that from his trip to Diagon Alley with Moody.

"We're going to Diagon Alley?"

"Yes," Severus answered with a slight upturn of his lips.

A few minutes later, Harry stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron fireplace. He landed hard enough on his left knee to make him scowl with pain, and then narrowly avoided being tripped over by Severus as he exited a few seconds later.

Ignoring the few stares from the mostly empty tavern around him, he clambered to his feet and followed his father to the Alley entrance. Despite the pain in his knee, and the attention he knew they were sure to draw, he was glad that they were out today. The trip gave him extra time to think about things—things like Lupin.

"Do you need a pain reliever?" Severus asked after pulling him to the side.

"Maybe some bruise salve later tonight," Harry admitted in what he hoped was a soft voice.

Around the side of his father's torso, he could see questioning looks in their direction from the Alley's other patrons.

"They're watching us, Professor," He added when it felt like Severus was going to argue the point.

Severus' eyes narrowed and his back straightened slightly. "Come along, Mr Potter."

Harry walked on the left side of his father in order to keep his crutch from tangling in his long robes. He would have preferred to walk on the inside next to the store fronts, but logistically, it was easier this way. He just hoped there wouldn't be another riot over him. Moody had warned him about his popularity during his first trip, but he hadn't been prepared for the sheer insanity of it. Someone had noticed him on their way out of the Leaky Cauldron, and Moody had been forced to side-along apparate him, lest he be trampled in the rush of people.

Even with the chance of being seen by his so-called "loving fans," Harry was glad that they were out today. The weather, though cold, was bright and dry for once. The trip also gave him a much needed break from the castle and the ever-present possibility of having to talk to Lupin. He was torn between wanting to beat the man into telling the truth and simply forgetting the entire thing.

 _It's_ _not as though his presence changes my life now,_ he mused.

A light touch to his shoulder made him glance up at Severus.

"Lucius Malfoy is headed our way," Severus said, turning his head just enough that Harry could see.

Harry looked up and saw a man with long white-blond hair strolling toward them. Now that he knew what he was looking at, Harry was able to see the resemblance between him and his classmate. He glanced back up at Severus in time to see his scowl disappear and be replaced by a more neutral expression.

"Ah Severus," Lucius Malfoy greeted them once they were within arm's reach of one another. "What has you out on such a lovely crisp day?" His eyes slid over to Harry intently.

"Various errands," Was Severus' nondescript answer.

"Indeed," Lucius said, raising an elegant eyebrow. "And how is our Mr Potter? Is he part of those errands?"

Harry resisted the urge to grab hold of Severus' robes. The man's grey eyes stared unceasingly at him and he stared back in turn, despite his discomfort.

"Mr Potter has found himself in need of some new robes. You know how growth spurts occur with increased magic use," Severus said beyond Harry's hearing.

He could tell that his father was speaking, but couldn't see exactly what he was saying. Harry waited until Severus' lips were no longer moving in his peripheral vision and then he took a chance.

"Surprised to see the Boy-Who-Lived in Slytherin?" Harry countered, ignoring the hand that squeezed his shoulder in warning.

Lucius smirked in mild amusement. "I always thought your mother could have done . . . fairly well in Slytherin, if not for a few other _tiny_ details."

"Like her being muggleborn?" Harry answered quickly before his father could interject.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed hard enough to be painful.

"Among other things," Was Lucius' cool response. "You seem to be thriving. My son has mentioned a few of your more interesting exploits in his letters home."

Those same cool eyes slid back to Severus and Harry wisely took a step backward. Glancing up at Severus, he was unsurprised to see dark eyes flash down at him.

"I was interested to learn of the enmity that seems to have appeared between you and the Weasley clan," Lucius remarked, a pleased expression settling across his features.

"The youngest boy is hardly the entire clan," Severus answered crisply. "Mr Potter would find it advantageous not to base the actions of one person on his opinion of an entire group."

"Yes, one's opinion must not be overshadowed by the behaviours of one bad egg," Lucius agreed. "Not unlike Sirius Black, hmm?"

Harry was surprised to see Severus' teeth grit briefly in response.

 _Who's Sirius Black?_ He wondered.

. . .

Severus felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. Why, of all people, did they have to encounter Lucius Malfoy?

"I see by his expression that you have not told him about Black, have you?" Lucius tutted disdainfully; the corner of his lip curling upward.

"An oversight, I'm sure," Severus reassured him with a sneer.

Harry looked up at him and then back to Lucius. Silently, Severus willed him not to speak, but knew better than to hope. This was one of his Slytherins, yes, but he was also an eleven year old boy. Subtlety was not a first year's playground.

"Sirius Black is the reason your parents died, young man," Lucius said, speaking to the unvoiced question in Harry's eyes.

Severus caught sight of Harry's hand clenching down hard upon his crutch, but otherwise he did not react.

"Oh?" Was all the boy said.

"He betrayed them—and you _—_ to the Dark Lord," Lucius remarked almost gleefully.

Severus could almost hear Harry's thoughts. _He's the reason you were given to the Dursleys,_ was likely the progression of ideas passing through his young Snake's mind.

"Have you no opinion on that, Mr Potter?" Lucius asked; his long fingers nearly _caressing_ the top of his snake headed cane.

"Was he," Harry paused and licked his lips. "Was he an acquaintance of theirs?"

Mentally, Severus gave Harry points for his correct usage of a multi-syllabic word.

"He was your father's best friend," Lucius informed him. The aristocrat was calm as he searched over Harry's face for some kind of reaction to that announcement. Finding no discernible distress, Lucius frowned and turned back to Severus.

"And how is Draco doing in your class? Top marks, I would hope?"

"One of them, anyway," Severus answered, thinking back to the Granger girl, as well as his own son.

Lucius frowned at his answer, and Severus ratcheted up the level of his sneer.

"Well, as delightful as it is to stand here and chat, I really must be going. The wind is rather frightful, as I'm sure you have noticed," Lucius said, excusing himself with one last glance at Harry.

Severus waited until the other man was out of hearing before turning to Harry. The boy's face was guarded, more so than usual and inwardly, Severus sighed. It seemed that the discussion of Sirius Black would have to happen sooner instead of later.

"Let's get your new wardrobe, and afterward, I will answer whatever questions you have. At least to the best of my ability," He amended.

. . .

Despite the chill of the air, Severus walked Harry to Fortescue's after their lengthy time spent with Madam Malkin.

"I find myself in need of a bit of a pick-me-up after that ordeal," Severus said lightly. The woman had been nearly uncontrollable in her zeal to revamp the entire wardrobe of Mr Harry Potter. Only Severus' sneer and glare had kept her anywhere in check, and even so, it had been tiresome for all involved.

"Can I get a coffee?" Was Harry's surprising question.

"Do you like coffee?" Severus asked.

Harry smiled his peculiar half-grin back at him and then shrugged. "Been drinking it since I was first out on my own; you know, when I was a kid."

Severus inwardly scowled darkly at Harry's words. No child—magical or otherwise—should be left to fend for themselves on the streets at _eight bloody years old!_

"You are still a child," He said instead.

"Am I?" Too serious eyes stared back at him and he fought the urge to sigh.

His Slytherins were used to getting the short end, but never had such a case like Harry existed within his knowledge. It burned in his gut and made him want to curse Dumbledore and those muggles all the way to hell.

_But then where would his Slytherins be?_

"I've never noticed you drinking coffee before."

That wordless shrug preceded Harry's answer. "The elves don't serve it on my end of the table. I guess they don't think that a bunch of kids would be interested." He smiled as he said the word, 'kids,' but Severus noticed that there was no mirth in his expression.

"Coffee, then," Severus acquiesced, his mind already back on Sirius Black.

Once they received their order—along with a few blueberry scones—Harry's green eyes focused back on him once again.

"Who is he?"

"He was, as Lucius stated, a friend of your father's," Severus stated evenly, blowing on his coffee to cool it. He was surprised to see Harry drinking his own drink black, but did not remark on it.

"Did you go to school with him too?" Harry asked perceptively.

" . . . Yes."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and he fought to keep the smirk off of his face at seeing his own signature look staring back at him.

"The enmity that exists between you and Mr Weasley is somewhat similar to my relationship with Black."

Harry's eyes narrowed briefly.

"He was a Gryffindor born into a family of Slytherins."

"Like the opposite of me?"

"Indeed," Severus agreed. "He and your father were fast friends with two other boys as well: Peter Pettigrew and Lupin. They found it great _fun_ to prank and torment anyone they liked; particularly those students that they felt to be under them."

This was harder than he had thought it would be. There were still many unpleasant memories of Potter and his gang, and his emotions were closer to the surface than he had expected. One would think time might have healed him, but the feelings of bitterness and resentment were nearly as strong as they ever had been.

"Like you?"

Severus barked a bitter laugh, causing an elderly woman to cross the street to avoid the frightful sound.

"Quite."

"Sounds a bit like my cousin Dudley," Harry remarked with a dark scowl.

"A bit of a bully?" Severus asked, leaning in slightly. Harry hardly ever spoke of his life before Hogwarts, and he was always interested to hear anything about it.

It was Harry's turn to laugh, and Severus was secretly horrified to hear such a bitter sound coming from Lily's young son.

"Not as bad as my uncle, but yeah, a bully," Harry answered. "He and his 'mates,' and I use that term loosely, used to go 'Harry Hunting.' They liked to get me down on the ground and beat me to a pulp. I managed to, to—apparate? Was that the word? I jumped and found myself on the roof once while running from them."

Severus felt his eyebrows raise to his hairline. Apparating at such a young age was almost unheard of.

"And how did your uncle act toward you?" Severus asked, not sure if Harry would answer or deflect him.

Cold green eyes found his own and his insides knotted up.

"My uncle?" Harry sneered coldly. "My uncle hated me." Harry's eyes unfocused; while Severus surreptitiously murmured a combination silencing and disillusionment spell around them.

"He left me to die," Harry managed a moment later. "He left me to die in the car after he crashed it; after he had got my aunt and cousin out. He left me to die with the smell of petrol in the air and smoke already coming from the engine. And you know what my aunt told me!?" Harry's lower lip trembled and his eye filled with tears.

"She told me to stay. She told me to stay and die!"

Heart aching and fearing an explosion, Severus tentatively reached out and took Harry's hand. The boy jerked at the touch but didn't pull away. A moment later, the clarity returned to his eyes and he blinked hard.

"She . . . she wanted me to die," Harry said in a younger child's voice. Wide green eyes found dark ones and Severus cursed the Dursleys for all he was worth. How could Dumbledore _ever_ have found them suitable as guardians of this child? "Why?"

"Why did she hate you?" Severus asked carefully.

"I was . . . I was just a little kid," Harry said, his voice still unsure. "What did I do to her?"

"Nothing. You did nothing to her. Petunia is a bitter and wretched woman and it sounds as though her family is exactly like her. You did _nothing_ to deserve such treatment."

Smaller fingers clenched around his long digits and Harry swallowed hard.

"But why then? Was it because I'm a freak?"

Severus ground his teeth at the word before catching himself and relaxing. With Harry's uncertainty, he did not want to accidentally make the child worried that _Severus_ was angry at him.

"Your aunt was jealous of your mother for having magic. When she discovered that it was something she could never have—never have a part of, she began to hate your mother. I would assume that when your parents died, that hate was transferred to you."

"So why did they get custody?" Harry's face looked imploringly across the table at him.

"I wish I knew," Severus admitted, shaking his head. "Come. Let us continue this conversation back at Hogwarts."

. . .

Frustrated at the answers—or lack thereof—that he had been receiving about Harry, Remus finally decided to go to what he figured was the heart of the matter: The Dursleys.

He apparated to a park nearby that he remembered and walked the rest of the way, transfiguring his robes as he did. Even so, he got a few strange glances in his direction. That changed when he walked onto the Dursley property itself. A wave of magical wards settled upon his skin as he entered the lawn, and the watchful eyes that he had felt suddenly found new targets.

The yard itself was unkempt and nearly wild in appearance; reaffirming Remus' suspicions that the nearby muggles were unable to see it. There was a rusted car in the driveway, and more than a few creeping vines working their way up the side of house.

Finally casting a diagnostic spell, he was unsurprised to find multiple layers of Notice-Me-Not and muggle repelling charms. Given that the _Dursleys_ themselves _were_ muggles, the entire thing gave him a chill down his spine. Instead of putting his wand up, he left it up his sleeve as he went to knock on the door.

No one answered, and Remus couldn't decide whether he was relieved or not. Tentatively, he reached his hand out to the doorknob and was somewhat surprised to find it unlocked.

 _After all those wards?_ Was his confused half-thought.

The interior was dark and he murmured _lumos_ as he swung the door mostly closed behind him. The house's interior _looked_ impeccable, but the smell—the smell was wrong. It was dank inside, a bit like an old refrigerator that hadn't been cleaned out in a while.

He hesitantly walked forward into the sitting room and glanced upward toward a flash of light. The pictures on the wall shone back at him, and he realised that he must have caught the reflection of his lit wand on them. Smiling round faces looked back at him, frozen still faces that looked more than a bit unnatural. He looked more closely, but nowhere did he find Harry's face.

He wondered what Harry looked like with a smile, but pushed the thought out of his head and moved on. He passed by a cupboard under the stairs and paused. There was a smell of old blood and he moved his hand to the door slowly. Opening it, he found an old crib mattress and a crusty old blanket.

 _Could Harry have lived here?_ The smells matched and his stomach did an uncomfortable flip flop as he realised the implications. They had kept his cub in a cupboard—a _cupboard!_ He stood up and backed away, closing the door as he did so.

His senses prickling uncomfortably, he finally cast a spell that he had been putting off. It was a diagnostic spell for discovering types of magic. The light in his wand dimmed and finally turned purple and his breath caught at the sight. The house was full of dark magic, and he strongly doubted that it had been caused by a small boy. His lumos returned to normal and he stepped forward to the next room.

After a quick glance through the kitchen, he went to the stairs. The fourth one up creaked unbearably loudly in the uncomfortable stillness around him, and he froze, his heart pounding wildly in his ears. When nothing came out of the darkness toward him, he began moving again. His wand in front of him, he eased his way upstairs where presumably the bedrooms were.

In the first room, he found what looked a bit like a guest room. It smelled unlived in, so he closed the door and went across the hall to the next. This one was filled to brim with old and broken toys, and it looked to him a bit like a dystopian version of a nursery. The next room was completely the opposite. Also full, everything in it seemed too bright for the drab settings it was displayed in. Strangely enough, he had found no dust in any of the rooms.

Finally, he came to the last room on the hall, what he would assume to be the master bedroom. The smell of dark magic was strongest here and he took a deep breath as he opened the door.

The sight that greeted him was a terrible one. Three forms, all in permanent magical stasis, hung from the ceiling with various horrified expressions on their faces. The largest one—Mr Dursley, Remus presumed—was missing his eyes. They had been gouged out forcefully, the blood left to drip down his face and into the large moustache.

A thinner woman hung next to him, her neck slashed open. The flesh over her mouth had grown together and Remus shuddered at the sight. To her other side, a smaller mountain of flesh hung. Presuming it to be their son, Remus slowly walked forward to the sight. In his mouth was some kind of broken toy with a great number of coloured buttons down the side. His face was blue and it wasn't hard to guess that he had choked to death.

All three Dursleys had soiled themselves, and the odour fought for recognition over the scent of their fear.

Unable to bear the sight any longer, Remus turned and fled.


	25. Child of Fire

They came back the same way they had left, via the floo in Severus' quarters. Once there, they took off their cloaks and put them by the door. Then, Harry went to his room to put up his new belongings, while Severus started the tea.

When he came back into the room, Severus motioned him to sit at the sofa. He was joined shortly thereafter when Severus walked back into the room, the tea tray floating behind him. His father served him first, offering him a selection of small cookies from a plate that had clearly seen better days. Harry wasn't bothered by it though, given the sad state of his dishware from when he was on the streets.

 _Severus' dishes at least had once had class, even if they were old and slightly cracked nowadays,_ he thought.

It wasn't until they were both served and his father had a chocolate biscuit perched at the edge of his saucer that either of them spoke.

"Sirius Black was your father's best friend and one of my worst enemies," Was his opening line.

Seeing the question on Harry's face, Severus motioned him to speak.

"Why?"

A bitter expression passed over his father's face and Harry leaned in to better watch his spoken response.

"I was not rich enough by his standards. I was not handsome enough for their group. I did not have the same interests as them, nor was I particularly athletic. I was seen by them as something of a social reject, which I feel you may have some experience with?" Severus glanced sideways at him in askance, and it was suddenly Harry's turn to scowl darkly.

"Being stared at is the only thing that doesn't ever change," He managed after a moment and few liberal sips of his tea.

Severus nodded in understanding. "I do know how that feels, little snake."

Harry then had to duck his head to hide his blush at his father's term of endearment. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to that sudden bloom of warmth in his stomach from his father's words; nor did he know if he even _wanted_ to get used to it.

Ignoring the urge to swing his feet like a little kid, he glanced back up at Severus and asked, "Why did my mother marry my father if he was such an arse?"

Severus sighed.

"Your father, unlike Black, did manage to mature somewhat by the end of his Hogwarts' career. I wouldn't go so far as to say he was kind toward me or any others he found to be lacking, but he no longer treated me as something to be cleaned off the bottom of his shoe. I suspect that Lily admired him for his maturity—his coming of age, you might say—and fell in love with him from that." Severus answered slowly.

Harry watched his father's expressions and noticed a significant amount of tightness in the spaces around his mouth and eyes as he spoke about Lily.

"You've said before that you knew my mother," Harry stated slowly. "Did you like her?"

The corner of Severus' mouth rose slightly and Harry mentally congratulated himself.

"Lily was my first and for the longest time, my only friend. When she was sorted into Gryffindor, I thought my heart would break."

Harry didn't hear the way Severus' voice had gone hoarse at his admittance, but he did see the slightly reddish tinge that lit his father's usually pale features.

Putting his tea aside, he reached out and slid his hand into his father's loosely held fist. Severus squeezed his hand back, and then put his half-drunk tea on the small table beside them.

"Do you think, well," Harry ducked his head again. "Do you think she would've come for me if she could have?"

Severus squeezed his hand, and he looked back up to see a grim smile on his face.

"In a heartbeat, Harry," Severus said just as the door flashed with light.

After installing the charm on Harry's bedroom door, Severus had done the same for the other doors within his quarters as well. It worked for anyone trying to get in, regardless of whether they were knocking or sneaking.

In one fluid motion, Severus let go of Harry's hand and stood up, straightening his robes as he did. He cast a glance at Harry and then strode to the door.

 _It's not Moody. He never knocks anymore,_ Harry thought. _It's not Dumbledore, is it? Would he knock?_

Just as Harry felt his heart rate speed up, Severus opened to the door to reveal an out of breath, harassed looking Remus Lupin.

. . .

Remus had initially thought he should go to Dumbledore with his discovery, but he was still angry at the headmaster for placing Harry with those . . . those _people_ to begin with. He shuddered at the memory of what those people had become.

"What is it, Lupin?" Severus greeted him coldly as the door swung open.

"We need to talk," Remus growled, shoving past him and stopping dead at the sight of his cub.

"Please do come in," the other man sneered with an eye roll that Remus felt more than saw.

"Hello, Harry," Remus said.

"Hullo," Was Harry's quiet response.

"Mr Potter and I are discussing something of great import," Severus interjected, placing himself in between Remus and Harry. "What's so imperative that you felt the need to barge into my quarters like some sort of _mongrel?_ "

Remus quickly cast a silencing spell, not noticing the slight tensing in Severus' frame as he did.

Keeping an eye on his cub, he quickly explained what he had seen in the Dursley's household.

"They're dead, Severus; all of them, even the boy. They look as though they've been tortured."

Severus' answering scowl was so dark that even Remus felt the desire to back up.

"And you didn't tell Dumbledore?"

"Given that he was the one responsible for placing him with them, no. I thought you should know first," Remus answered sombrely.

"Indeed," Severus said. He frowned and then turned in the direction of the fireplace. "I need to contact someone regarding this. Stay here."

. . .

When Remus had cast the silencing spell, Severus had hoped that Harry might have been aware enough not to have continued to follow the conversation. However, when he turned back toward the boy, he realised that his hope had been in vain. Harry's face was the picture of shock for a moment until he saw Severus looking at him. Then he quickly regained his composure.

Severus raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry gave a shaky nod. He mentally sighed and then turned to the fireplace. Moody needed to be apprised of the situation. He was also curious about Lupin's decision to tell him first, and what the backlash would be from Dumbledore once he discovered that the man wasn't as loyal to him as he'd clearly thought.

Tossing a pinch of floo powder in the fireplace, Severus knelt down and called out, "Moody's quarters."

Behind him, he felt Lupin looking at his back, and he squashed the urge to turn around and hex him. Turning one's back on a werewolf was never a good idea, regardless of what state that wolf was in.

"Snape?" Moody's eyes narrowed at the sight of his 'son' voluntarily contacting him.

Severus spared a few choice thoughts about the wrongness of Lupin calling him by his given name when Moody still didn't—and probably never would.

"Lupin has brought a situation to light regarding Mr Potter's relatives," Severus said.

"He did, huh?" Moody grunted. "You want me ta come through?"

"I'm not sure if 'want' is the correct word," Severus responded with a curious twist of his lips that could have been a smile on someone else.

Moody rolled both eyes and said, "Move it Snape. 'Fore I walk over your head."

Severus moved out of the way just before Moody stomped through the fireplace.

"Well, I'm not!" Harry yelled behind them, causing both men to turn around.

. . .

When Severus moved to the fireplace, Remus had taken it upon himself to talk with his cub. He was rather disconcerted by the strangely blank look on the boy's face and decided to ask him about it.

"Hi there, Harry. Can I sit down?" He said, indicating the other end of the sofa that Harry was seated on.

Harry shrugged and he decided to sit.

"Do you often have tea with Severus, Harry?" He asked.

Harry's far too calm eyes looked at him in silence for a moment. "Only when we need to talk to about things."

"You know, if you ever need to talk about something, you can ask me too, Harry. You don't remember it, but you loved me when you were little."

"Uh huh," Harry answered with a sneer that Remus found far too reminiscent of Severus.

Remus sighed. "I'd wish you give me a chance."

Abruptly Harry's apathetic posture changed. He sat up straight and the look in his eyes sharpened into something almost predatory.

"Tell me about the Dursleys," Harry said softly.

Remus felt his heart stop and his stomach drop into his shoes.

"The Dursleys?" He managed weakly.

"You told Professor Snape that you found them dead. Tortured. Tell me about it."

"How did you—?" Remus spluttered. _Had Severus cancelled his silencing spell? Why_ would _he have?_

"Professor Snape had nothing to do with this," Harry anticipated, shifting closer to him. "Tell me about my _family_ ," He asked with a cold show of teeth.

"I know that you didn't get along with them—."

"Tell me," Harry said, awkwardly getting to his feet and edging toward Remus.

"They weren't the best people, but surely even you can feel sorry for their deaths? Your cousin was only a child."

Instantly, Remus could tell that he had said the wrong thing. Harry's eyes began to glow with an unearthly shade of green and all of the shadows in the room lengthened around them.

"Well, I'm not!"

Remus saw Severus and Moody turn toward them at Harry's shout.

"A child!? A child!?" Harry screamed.

"Harry," Remus heard Severus murmur even as the dark robed man began moving toward them.

A hot wind whipped around them and suddenly the door to the hallway burst open in a show of green and silver sparks.

"The wards just fell," Remus heard Severus say behind him.

Harry grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him forward onto his feet with an impossible level of strength for a boy of his size.

The wind smelled overwhelmingly of petrol as it whipped past Remus' head. He felt Moody pushing past him at his elbow and saw Severus reach Harry's side just as hell broke between them.

The hallway exploded with a loud boom and fire filled the doorway. The wind screamed past them and wild magic pulled him and Harry out into the middle of it; in turn pushing Severus and Moody down to the floor with an audible clunk of bone against stone.

They were surrounded by a maelstrom of fire and smoke as the air literally crackled and burned around their bodies.

"You said I should feel sorry, but I'm not! I'm glad they died! I hope they suffered! I hope they burned!" Harry howled at him in a pitch just slightly lower that the shriek of the wind in his ears.

"Harry, I'm sorry," Remus said, his eyes streaming tears.

. . .

Dumbledore looked up as the monitoring devices in his office all started going off at once. Fawkes added to the confusion with a series of very concerned screeches that set his nerves on edge and actually cracked the windows behind him.

He smiled despite the physical discomfort of the madness around him and stood up at a leisurely rate. Strolling over to his floo, he opened it with a small pinch of powder and called out for Minerva.

"Meet me at Severus' quarters, will you? There seems to be something of a problem occurring there."

Then, without giving her a chance to respond, he shut down the connection and made his way to the door. Today was the day he had been waiting for. Today was the day he had planned for.

He fought the urge to grin as he stepped off of the stairs and started walking to the dungeons.

. . .

Harry was more than angry. He'd left angry in the dust of his past and now all he could feel was rage. How could Remus say that he needed to feel sorry for Dudley? _Just a child_ , his arse. Harry had been much younger than Dudley when he'd been blasted out of his world. He'd been a victim, not the pampered prince of a 'family' too far gone to flying fuck about what sorts of atrocities they'd perpetrated against him on a daily basis. Who'd argued for him against Dumbledore when he'd been laid up in the hospital with over fifty percent of his flesh burned off? Had anyone bothered arguing that _he_ had just been a bloody _fucking_ innocent!?

And now the Dursleys were dead. Just fucking great. Someone had already gotten to them, and now he'd never get his chance to show his dear _beloved_ family what growing up with them really was like. He'd never get a chance to _explain_ how he felt, or give them a taste of their own medicine. He was certain that whoever had killed them hadn't done their deaths justice, not like he could have. Not like _his_ Slytherin family could have.

Feeling sorry for them was so far out of his realm of manageable understanding that he wanted to laugh and then cry a bit at the same time. _Their_ suffering was over. They had gotten off too easily, and his body was screaming at him to make it right, to make _someone pay._

He could feel it rocketing through his body, through his nerve endings, through his magical senses. The fire was around him and on him and _in_ him, and it was pushing him to _be_ something more than just Harry Potter, burnt abused _victim_.

. . .

Severus pushed himself off the floor of his quarters with a groan. One of these days he was going to get these floors carpeted, or else spell them with a permanently cushioning charm. Yes, that sounded like a wonderful idea. He could feel a line of bruises popping up on his body from head to toe, and he bitterly cursed Lupin for whatever he had done to set off Harry.

Wait a second. Harry. His eyes swam as he sat up and blinked hard past the obstruction in his shocked mind. _Where was Harry?_

He turned to his door just in time for it to slam shut on the fire filled corridor. His heart leapt into his throat and he pushed past the pain with a burst of fear. _Harry!_

Beside him, Moody swore at the loud bang the door made when it slammed shut. He was gonna get those hoodlums in his neighbourhood for once and for all. And then he'd make 'em . . . He blinked. He wasn't at home. He was in Snape's quarters and Harry—!

He looked around and found a seething Snape standing at the door with his wand out.

"It's locked from the _outside_ ," Snape snapped out when he saw Moody.

"Damn it," Moody cursed as he got to his feet with a wince. "By who? Harry?"

Snape shook his head as he turned back to the door. "It's not his magical signature."

Moody stomped over to the door and put his ear up to it. Nothing.

"Sounds like there's a silencin' spell up too," He growled. "Is that your only way outta here?" He asked, disapproval clear in his voice.

Severus scowled back at him. "Of course not. I have a separate exit that opens to my office, two floors up."

"Let's go then."

"That's assuming it hasn't been locked as well," Severus spat back.

"Less assumin', more movin', Snape. That's our boy out there. We gotta help 'im."

. . .

Lupin had been blasted off his feet at some point, and Harry could no longer see him past the swirling vortex of memories and fire that surrounded him.

" _Harry, my boy!"_ He suddenly heard in his mind. He whirled around and saw none other than Albus Dumbledore. The old man was standing at the end of the corridor with—Harry squinted—McGonagall.

Harry grinned a savage smile at the sight of his most hated enemy. Standing before him was the reason he'd had to go back to that loveless family. Standing before him was the reason he had to grow up alone. Standing before him was the reason he had burned instead of lived and grown.

He howled angrily at the old man and started walking toward him, bringing the burning with him.

"We need you to calm down, my boy," he saw the man say.

_Calm down? I'll show you calmed down._

Harry began running as best he could with his leg and crutch. He moved much faster than either Dumbledore or McGonagall had expected. Dumbledore barely had enough time to pull out his wand and cast his spell.

" _Puer ignis,_ " He hastily snapped off when Harry was nearly close enough to touch.

Fire burst out from every pore in Harry's body and he screamed aloud. He felt as though his bones were melting and breaking as his skin slid off and his magic roared so loudly he could very nearly hear it.

. . .

The floor suddenly bucked under their feet and Severus and Moody were once again thrown to the ground of the hallway. A secondary blast was followed by a noticeable increase in temperature, along with angry roar that reverberated through Severus' eardrums. He wouldn't notice until later, but both of his ears bled at this sound, as was the case for all others in the vicinity.

Rounding the corner, Severus skid to a very inelegant stop at the sight that appeared before them. He didn't even manage to find words to curse Moody when he ran into his backside.

Standing on powerful hind legs in the middle of the half-shattered corridor, was a half-grown dragon, resplendently lit in shining silvers and blues. And standing in-between them and the dragon was none other than Albus Dumbledore, a demented smile on his soot smudged face.


	26. I Want Him Dead

"You take Harry, I'll take on the ol' crackpot," Moody said quietly from behind him.

Severus opened his mouth to argue, but then decided better of it. He wasn't actually certain who had the better deal.

Thoughtfully, he reached into his inner robe pocket and pulled out a pair of dragon-hide gloves. Putting them on, he skirted around Dumbledore and slowly approached Harry. Giving himself a brief moment to study Harry's dragon form, Severus tentatively guessed that his son had transformed into a Siberian Snarltooth. No other dragon—at least in the known world—had such brilliant silver scales as those Harry-dragon was currently sporting.

On his hind legs, Harry-dragon was a good three or four feet taller than him. He was more than a little impressive for a dragon that was clearly still in its youth.

Harry-dragon eyed him as he warily made his way closer, smoke streaming from his nostrils. Behind him he heard Moody growling at Dumbledore, but he pushed it out of his mind.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked when he was within a few feet of the angry dragon.

Harry-dragon reared back and roared in warning to him, but Severus refused to run.

"Come down here, little snake," Severus ordered, looking him right in the eye.

Harry-dragon's wings flapped several times in agitation and smoke streamed more prolifically from his nostrils at Severus' words. Severus was about to raise his shield and escape when suddenly Harry-dragon dropped to all fours.

No longer raised up, Harry-dragon was now level with Severus' face. For once, he was glad that Harry was small for his age. Typically a Snarltooth Harry's age would have been at least a foot taller than him, but Harry's treatment at the hands of his relatives had stunted his growth, even as a dragon it seemed. Still though, a six foot tall dragon was certainly not a laughing matter. Fortunately, Severus was wearing his teaching robes, and they were spelled against fire.

 _Fat lot of good that'll do my face,_ Severus thought.

Opposite him, Harry-dragon suddenly snorted. Severus raised an eyebrow. Was it possible that Harry-dragon could understand his thoughts? He knew that dragon handlers like Charlie Weasley found ways to communicate with their charges, but as far as he knew, he hadn't _actively_ been projecting his thoughts toward his son.

Bright green orbs stared back at him from Harry-dragon's face. They sparkled with an intelligence that seemed to project down toward him. Suddenly Severus felt a foreign presence press into his mind. A strong sense of possessiveness emanated from it and without thinking, he smiled.

"Do you know who I am, Harry child?" Severus asked again, tentatively encouraged.

Harry-dragon stomped his foot and snorted once more.

. . .

Looking down at the dark furred man in front of him, Harry-dragon cocked his head to the side and tried to remember why he seemed so familiar. Impulsively, he pushed his nose into the man's chest and sniffed.

Herbs. Smoke. Spellfire. He smelled each of these in quick succession as he moved his head from one side to the other.

" _Must you really sniff my armpits, Harry?"_ He _heard_ in his mind.

Surprised, he jerked backward and stared at the man across from him. That was the same voice that he had heard before. Still thinking, he nosed the man's shoulder and was delighted when fingers began to scratch under his jaw.

" _Do you know who I am, little snake?"_ That voice said in his head again.

Little snake. The words evoked strong feelings in his heart. Without warning, a series of images began to scroll past his mind's eye in quick succession.

Robes with a snake emblem. Green and silver ties. Warm arms holding him as he cried out his heart's sorrow. Bubbling cauldrons and children standing around him. A grey haired man's laughter.

His brow furrowed as a name came to him. Sire. This man was his sire.

He groaned aloud and dropped the rest of his body to the floor with a soft thump. He had nearly set his _sire_ on fire. His _sire_.

He smelled his sire a moment before the man himself kneeled down next to him. His sire—Severus! He thumped his tail happily on the floor, unaware of the great amount of dust it raised in the corridor. For some reason, this caused his Severus to quickly turn and glance at something behind him. He tried to do the same, but Severus' hand on his head restrained him.

" _Can you hear me, little one?"_ He heard in his mind. It had to be his Severus talking, and Harry-dragon rumbled appreciatively at the realisation.

" _I can, sire,"_ He answered.

In front of him, his Severus snorted with laughter and he cocked his head to one side in confusion.

" _Did I say something wrong?"_

" _Harry, please call me Father. That's what you call me, do you remember?"_ His Severus—no, his _Father_ said.

Oh.

" _Oh! Because you adopted me!"_ Harry supplied. More memories were falling into place.

"That's right," Severus answered, momentarily forgetting to speak aloud in his mind.

Instead of not hearing his words at all, Harry-dragon had a very interesting experience. He heard them echoed distantly in his mind, muffled and somewhat indistinct.

" _That's right,"_ Severus repeated a moment later in his head. _"I did adopt you."_

Nosing his Father's shoulder, Harry-dragon asked curiously, _"Say something else aloud."_

"Aloud?" Severus murmured with an appraising eyebrow.

Harry-dragon blinked in surprise as he _heard_ the word in his mind, only slightly less muffled this time.

" _I can hear your words!"_ He answered excitedly. In his joy, his tail thumped several times on the floor again.

Severus glanced back toward to Dumbledore exactly at the same moment Harry-dragon realised they weren't alone.

. . .

The calm and placid dragon in front of Severus suddenly leapt to his feet and roared threateningly toward the man in the hideous fuchsia robes.

Moody cursed aloud as his chance at getting Albus to actually _answer_ his questions suddenly came to an end. It wasn't as if they had been getting anywhere, but the lack of rational response from his "friend" was galling. For the past few minutes, the old man's mind had been on one thing and one thing only: Harry.

"Isn't he glorious, Alastor? Most experts agree that it can't be done. They say that a magical animagus form is impossible, but our Harry proved him wrong," Dumbledore told him for the third time in as many minutes.

The headmaster's mind seemed to be completely oblivious to the very real danger he was in, and Moody wasn't entirely certain if he really felt like saving the old bastard anyway.

Harry-dragon roared again and Moody had just enough time to scramble backward before a furious silver dragon took his place.

They watched Harry slam one clawed foot into the centre of Dumbledore's chest, throwing him bodily against the stone wall behind him. A scream behind Moody indicated that Minerva was no longer down.

" _Protego!"_ The enraged transfigurations professor yelled out. She shoved Moody aside to get to Dumbledore as she pushed closer to the mayhem surrounding them and he grunted out painfully as he fell hard on his already bruised arm.

The shield charm rippled around them, but other than enraging Harry-dragon further, it didn't seem to do a thing. A clawed forearm swung out to the side and dropped her to the ground just as suddenly. Inside Harry-dragon's head, he was raging. Why had she tried to protect his _prey_ and how _dare_ she try and hurt his grandsire!

"Harry!" Severus' voice bellowed out in the chaos as Moody crawled painfully to his feet.

His "son" made his way through the dust and smoke and reached out a hand to Moody's grandson-turned-dragon.

"You've got him, child. You can put him down now."

In Harry-dragon's hold, Dumbledore wheezed and nodded his agreement. His horrid fuchsia robes were ripped and covered in dust and—Moody squinted—what could be blood. There was certainly a trail of blood coming from his nose, and it showed brightly against the whiteness of his beard and hair.

"No, don't let go of him!" A new voice joined the midst.

Moody wanted to groan at the sight of a dirt covered Lupin, but managed to contain himself.

"He deserves everything Harry gives him and more!" The man growled out, his eyes glowing strangely amber coloured.

"We wouldn't even be out here if it weren't for yeh. So shut yer mouth!" Moody shouted instead.

"Both of you hush," Severus snapped.

It seemed that Dumbledore was finally talking.

"You can't hurt me, Harry. No more than you could hurt your own mother and father," Albus was saying as they looked up at him.

Harry growled and twisted a claw deeper into his shoulder, causing the old man to cry out softly at the pain.

" _Flap your lips all you want. I can't hear you_ ," Harry-dragon said with a deep growl. In turn, his words were only heard by Severus.

"I'm your magical guardian, Harry. I'm as good as your father," Dumbledore said loudly with what he seemed to think was a grandfatherly wink.

" _Let go of the old bastard, Harry. He's no good to us dead_ , _"_ Harry-dragon _heard_ in his head.

" _I want him to suffer,"_ Harry-dragon answered silently, his lips twisting into a snarl.

" _I won't let him go free,_ " Severus promised. He rested a gloved arm resting on Harry-dragon's flank and raised his wand with his other hand.

On one hand, Severus didn't lie—hadn't ever lied to him, but this was _Dumbledore_ , the bane of his existence. How could he let him go when he was so close to tasting revenge?

"Please, Harry," Severus asked. "Don't let him escape so easily."

Harry-dragon glanced at his Severus and the murderous glint in his eye softened slightly.

" _Fine,"_ He said, growling aloud. He released his hold on Dumbledore as promised, but did nothing to slow his fall to the ground a few feet down.

Dumbledore fell with a pained cry and in his moment of dazed confusion, Severus summoned all of his wands (three) and carefully placed them in an inner pocket of his robes. From there, he cast _incarcerous_ , binding the old man with sturdy ropes, and further solidifying them with two more spells to dampen against wandless magic. With all of that done, he cast his Patronus to go and retrieve Poppy from the infirmary.

Harry-dragon watched all of this with interest, but the last part confused him. How could a deer that looked so much like a deer to his eyes not _smell_ like one? He had slid both feet back down to the ground fully while watching his Severus, and was now looming over Dumbledore threateningly.

The old man seemed to be fairly unconcerned by the situation, despite the dragon and the three wands trained on him. A benign expression on his face had Harry-dragon leaning in with a snarl, even as the old man started muttering something incomprehensible.

" _What's he saying, Father?"_ Was Harry-dragon's worried question.

" _Obedite Patris, over and over,"_ Severus answered.

" _What's that mean?"_

" _Obey your father."_

" _But I did,"_ Harry-dragon argued in confusion.

" _He seems to think that he is your father—or at least your guardian. And magically, he may have been at one point, but we changed that, remember?"_

Harry-dragon could almost feel his father's smirk through his words. It gave him a warm feeling that spread from his chest all the way down to the tip of his tail.

. . .

Madame Pomfrey arrived soon after atop a broom; which Harry-dragon couldn't help but goggle at.

"Merlin, Severus! I leave you alone for two days, and you manage this!?" Was her first comment to the group, which Severus helpfully relayed to Harry through their mental link.

Harry-dragon supposed he could learn to read lips again in his dragon form, and for a moment he wondered why he couldn't already.

 _Maybe it has to do with practice,_ he finally decided. His dragon eyes were actually worse than his human ones, though his other senses were much enhanced. _I wonder if they make glasses for dragons?_

"Are you Harry, then?" She bustled over to Harry-dragon and looked imperiously up at him. Despite her small stature as a human, Harry-dragon still felt intimidated by her and tried to back up, only to nearly trip over Lupin in his haste.

The man—Harry-dragon turned sharply toward Lupin as he picked up on something new.

" _Father, why does Lupin smell like a wolf?"_

" _Because he_ is _one,"_ Severus answered simply.

" _But—hold on,"_ Harry-dragon mentally stuttered. _"He's a werewolf?"_ He managed a few moments later.

" _Ten points to Slytherin."_

From there, Harry-dragon watched in a daze as Poppy spelled both McGonagall and Dumbledore onto stretchers. His transfigurations professor seemed to be somewhat shell-shocked, and Harry-dragon found it hard to feel sorry for her.

Lupin was another story altogether.

" _Why didn't he just tell me?"_

" _He was afraid of your judgment upon him,"_ Severus supplied.

" _Better to be a werewolf than a drunk!"_

" _I'm not entirely certain he would agree."_

Their conversation was halted then as Severus began to argue with Poppy over Dumbledore's placement.

"I want him at St. Mungo's. He's a danger to the students; just look at Mr Potter!"

Severus cast a silencing spell around them before arguing further. He gave Poppy the evil eye for saying so much in front of the headmaster, and she had the temerity to huff back at him.

"And I want him close in order that we might keep an eye on him. He's not going to get away without answering for what he's done," Severus answered with a growl reminiscent of Harry-dragon's own. "I promised Harry that I wouldn't let him escape."

"Snape," Moody interjected, "Let me get a team of aurors here. We can keep him under spell and wand 'til he owns up ta what's happened, ta what he's done."

"Only aurors who don't have any kind of pre-existing allegiance to him," Severus argued, his dark eyes shining meaningfully at the other man.

"Aye, that's agreed."

"But in the _meantime,_ " Poppy intervened threateningly, "I need to take precautions to ensure that he does not bleed to death from his wounds."

"If you insist," Severus answered, cancelling the silencing spell with a slash of his wand through the air.

"I'll go with yeh. Snape, what about yeh?"

"Harry, what do you think? Want to come upstairs for some guard duty?" Severus asked Harry-dragon aloud for Dumbledore's sake.

Harry-dragon thumped his tail on the floor several times for a visible response.

" _Please,"_ He answered silently.

"I don't think my infirmary was built for dragons," Poppy sniffed haughtily.

"Well, we'll just have to see, won't we?" Severus answered with an evil grin toward Harry-dragon. "Oh and Lupin, I'm sure Filch would appreciate it if you could help shore up this corridor."

A scowl was Remus' only response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you all give me suggestions for what we might call Harry-dragon?


	27. New Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Would you believe it if I told you that my major block in getting this chapter out was picking Harry's dragon name?

**Chapter 27**

They headed up to the infirmary slowly.  They picked up a few students along the way, some who had been hurt by falling masonry and a few other odds and ends.  Their pace was steady as Severus tried to pick out the easiest path to navigate with a half grown dragon at his heels. 

At the base of the stairs leading to the Great Hall, Severus saw what looked like a lump sprawled half on and half off the bottom step. Behind him, Harry-dragon started to growl and Severus hurried forward to keep the rest of their group from getting entangled in Harry-dragon’s agitated movements. 

He kneeled down next to the student sized lump and cast several diagnostic spells before turning him or her over. 

 _“TEDDY!”_ Severus heard in his mind as he turned over at the unconscious Nott boy.

 _“He’s my friend, Father!  He’s okay, right?”_  Harry-Dragon voiced in his mind.  Severus looked back to see Harry-Dragon snorting and stomping his feet as those still upright started edging away from him.

 _“Peace, little snake.  He’s simply unconscious.  Bruised, but not particularly broken,”_ Severus soothed. 

Harry-dragon stopped blowing smoke, but he didn’t entirely settle down until they were at their destination.  Madam Pomfrey immediately placed Dumbledore under a stasis spell in a private room separate from the main infirmary.  Then she moved on to tend to the other injured students. 

Moody and Severus stationed themselves outside of Dumbledore’s door and began to cast wards to keep the hold man in.  Harry, in turn settled into the aisle between the beds in the spot closest to his father.  Madam Pomfrey helpfully closed their end off with a large sheet that reached from the ceiling to the floor.  Severus added to their security by adding a few wards and charms, one of which kept their words from spilling over to the other side. 

. . .

It was while they waited for Moody and Amelia Bones to finish that Severus and Harry—to an extent—were able to explain to Poppy what had happened in the hallway. 

Every so often, Severus and Harry would have a mental aside in order to clarify some point between them.  After the third such of these, Poppy threw her arms in the air and demanded to know what was going on.

“Poppy,” Severus said gently as he turned in her direction, “As it turns out, Harry-dragon can _hear_ my thoughts and I can hear his—if we so desire.  I haven’t the faintest idea why; only that it began shortly after he was transformed by Dumbledore.”

“Your thoughts, and only yours, Severus?” Poppy asked, her eyebrows raised in shock.

“Indeed.  I suspect it has something to do with what spell Dumbledore used.”

“And what spell was that?”  She asked, cocking her head to the side as she studied Severus’ face. 

 _“You didn’t tell her I could hear your words either,”_ Harry-dragon pointed out. 

Severus didn’t answer him verbally, but he shook his head slightly.

“I didn’t hear the actual spell and Harry-dragon’s memories are a little confused at the moment.  It may be easier to get the information out of Dumbledore.”

Harry tuned him out and went back to trying to wrap his tail around Severus’ foot.  His tail seemed to have a mind of its own, and it was rather possessive of his father. 

 _“We can always move this conversation elsewhere if you don’t stop that, Harry.”_ His father’s voice rung sharply in his head. 

Ashamed, Harry-dragon put his head on the ground and covered it with his forepaws. 

“What did you say to him?”  Poppy asked.

“How is Mr Nott?” Severus answered instead.

Poppy sighed exasperatedly but answered his question. 

“The scans indicate a number of injuries—mostly bruises—that come with a serious fall down the stairs.  Harry’s magical outpouring rocked the entire castle.  It would have been enough to throw a boy of his stature off his feet.  Of course, to know for sure, we’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.”

“Hm,” Severus grunted.  “Do you think you can change him back?” He added, indicating Harry-dragon with an idle flick of his hand.

“Severus, forced animagus transformations are far out of my specialty.  Without consulting with St Mungo’s, the best option would be talk with Minerva.  Once she wakes up, obviously.”

Poppy had been forced to give her a Calming Draught when they had arrived at the infirmary.  That, coupled with the shock of the afternoon, had completely done in their colleague.  She had fallen to sleep almost instantly.  Poppy had been especially happy to find no broken bones in the older woman’s body, especially after hearing Severus’ side of things. 

. . .

Harry-dragon was too big to really move within the confines of the infirmary, but that didn’t entirely stop him from trying.  He still didn’t like the room—or what it represented to his human mind—but he was at least able to cope with being there now.  It helped that most of his people were there.  His sire—er, father, and his grandfather and his Teddy were all within range of his nose.  His nose, or he supposed, his _snout_ now, was so much stronger now.  It was hardly comparable to before. 

His scent of smell helped make up for his extremely poor eyesight.  He could tell that Teddy was unconscious, not just sleeping, but _unconscious_ on the other side of the white curtain that Poppy was using as a screen for the other half of the room. 

Unfortunately, his sense of hearing was still just as bad.  He supposed that real dragons could hear, but what did he know?  He hadn’t ever really studied dragons.  Teddy had mentioned once that they existed, but he had never _seen_ one, for all that he was _now_ one. 

He was shaken out of his musings by the smell of movement in front of him.  He lifted his head up and watched carefully as Moody and the woman he didn’t know came out of Dumbledore’s room.

“Well?” He heard his father ask.

He watched as Moody looked back at the other woman before speaking.  Harry growled in frustration at not being able to understand his grandfather’s words.

 _“Peace, little one,”_ Severus mentally said before kneeling down beside his head.  His father reached out with a gloved hand and rested it on his head.  _“I shall relay his words to you.”_

Harry sighed gustily.  He was somewhat mollified, but he hated not knowing what was going on.  He just wished his new eyes were as adept at reading lips as his old ones had been.  He could see the large items in the room fairly well, but the fine details were lost.  He could see Moody and he could _smell_ Moody, but he couldn’t see his mouth well enough to understand him.  It annoyed him. 

_“Moody says that Dumbledore was given veritaserum.  That is a powerful truth serum that I teach my upper years about.”_

_“And the headmaster can’t beat it somehow?”_ Harry-dragon asked.

 _“Not my serum,”_ Was Severus’ somewhat smug answer. 

Harry-dragon grinned a tooth filled smile up at his father. 

Severus let Moody talk for a longer time before he translated for Harry.  When he did, all traces of humour were gone from his voice.

 _“Moody says that Dumbledore has been . . . training you to be the ultimate weapon against . . .”_ Here, Severus visibly shuddered, and Harry-dragon had to butt his head against his father’s side to get him to continue.

 _“He—Dumbledore—believes that the Dark Lord isn’t really gone and that he will be—_ is _returning. He has conspired with an old friend by the name of ‘Nicolas Flamel,’ in order to create a . . . weapon strong enough to fight and beat the Dark Lord.”_

Harry-dragon could see why his father was upset at the news.  _He_ was upset at the news. 

Hot dragon tears were beginning to slide out of his eyes and steam on the floor as it sunk in. 

 _“He left you in that_ deplorable _home in order to twist you into something that was more anger and more bitterness than even the Dark Lord could stand.  Coupled with the spell that he spoke—.”_

Severus broke off and asked Moody, “Did we discover the spell?”

Moody answered and Severus turned back to Harry-dragon to continue his explanation.

_“Puer ignis can be loosely translated into, ‘child of fire.’  Moody says that apparently the only controller of a . . . child of fire is its parent.  Since your parents are dead, he made himself your magical guardian in order to fulfil that role.  In order to control you.”_

_“He . . .”_ Harry-dragon’s claws were scratching furrows in the stone floor of the infirmary, but no one did anything to stop him.  _“He made me go back to them . . . because he wanted me to be miserable?”_

“Anger is a great igniter of powerful magic. The Dark Lord is a prime example of that,” Severus answered aloud with a shake of his head and a dark unreadable look in his eyes.  

The feelings raging through his body seemed to know no bounds.  He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to roar or fly or just make everything burn. 

Moody said something else, and Severus turned toward him with a stony expression.

“Moody says that Dumbledore thinks the transformation is supposed to be only as permanent as any other animagus form is.  You’ll need to learn how to meditate on your human form to turn back into it, Harry.”

The woman gave a visible start at the mention of Harry’s name before saying something. 

Harry-dragon butted Severus’ shoulder when he didn’t immediately relay the woman’s words. 

“Auror Bones believes that it would be best if we called you something other than ‘Harry’ while you’re in this form.  Lest the press gets wind of it.”

That threw him off track and away from the boiling anger that was threatening to burn through him. 

 _“A different name?”_ Harry-dragon asked tentatively, his claws finally still.  He didn’t see Moody waving his wand and fixing the stones underneath him, but he did taste the magic.  His head jerked up and he had the distinct feeling that Moody was apologizing. 

“Something like Sharpclaw or Silver,” Severus relayed.

Harry-dragon scowled.  He didn’t want to be called Silver.  That reminded him too much of that black and white show that his cousin used to watch on the telly.

His cousin . . . his thoughts slid to a complete stop.

_“Did they ask Dumbledore if he knew anything about what happened to my—to the Dursleys?”_

“I don’t believe so,” Severus’ brow was furrowed and a scowl was beginning to break across his face.  “Auror Bones, we need you to investigate Mr Potter’s previous home.  His relatives live—lived at Number 4, Privet Drive in Surrey.  Lupin went there to inquire about Mr Potter and he claimed that they were all . . . dead.”

Harry-dragon saw Moody and Auror Bones glance at each other, but it didn’t seem as though either of them said anything. 

Poppy stood up then and bustled off toward the other side of the curtain.

“It seems that Mr Nott may be waking,” Severus noted, watching the small woman leave their side of the room. 

Harry-dragon tasted the air and agreed with Severus’ words.  He clambered to his feet and tried to follow Poppy.  The feel of Severus’ hand on his flank stopped him, and he growled back without thinking. 

 _“Sorry, father,”_ He said contritely when he realised what he had done.

_“It’s no problem, child.  We simply need to keep you from further frightening the other students.”_

_“Can we bring Teddy over here?”_ Harry didn’t know why, but he wanted all of his people to be nearby. 

_“It is possible.  Poppy has the final say though.”_

_. . ._

_“Can you ask Teddy if he has any ideas about my name?”_

It was somewhat later.  Auror Bones had left to gather a few other choice aurors before investigating the Dursley home.  Teddy had been brought up to speed and though somewhat taciturn, seemed to be in fairly good spirits.  Of course, it wasn’t everyday one’s best friend got turned into a dragon either, but that was hardly the only strange event about their day so far.

Severus relayed Harry-dragon’s message and then turned back to Moody. 

Teddy’s face scrunched as he thought about what Severus had asked for Harry.  He started to say something, but realised that his head of house was talking to Moody.  It would get pretty tiresome for his professor to keep telling Harry things for him.  Maybe he could make a list? 

Aware that Harry-dragon’s bright green eyes were watching his every motion, he reached for the side table next to him and found some parchment.  With a whispered word to Madame Pomfrey, he got an old textbook to use as a writing surface and a slightly mangled self-inking quill.  He turned briefly to give an encouraging smile to Harry, and then set to writing several ideas. 

About fifteen minutes later, he put the quill down and tried to massage his aching hand.  It wasn’t just his hand that hurt, but really all over.  He had fallen down the stairs after being surprised by the rocking of the stones underneath him, and had pretty much banged up his entire body from head to toe.  Pomfrey had given him some pain potions, but he suspected they were starting to wear off. 

“Sir?” He spoke to get Severus’ attention. 

“Are you in pain, Teddy?” Severus asked in a quiet voice from the foot of his bed.

Teddy smiled goofily, absurdly pleased that his head of house had called him, ‘Teddy.’

“No sir—well, sort of, but that’s not why I called you.”

“Oh?” Severus asked, stepping over to stand next to him and pulling out a vial of something from his inner robe pocket. 

“Can you talk these over with Harry and see if he likes any of them?” Teddy asked, pressing the list into Severus’ hand.

“I can.  Will you swallow this pain potion like a good little snake and take a nap for me?”  Severus asked with a half-smile.

Teddy scowled.  It didn’t hurt _that_ bad. 

“Fine,” He said, when it seemed like neither of them would do anything.

“Good lad,” Severus said, handing over the pain potion.

Teddy knocked it back with a grimace, but before he could ask for a glass of water, he felt his eyes closing. 

“That’s . . . cheating,” He managed to slur.  He felt a long fingered hand on his forehead and sighed at its comfortable warmth.

. . .

They had gone over Teddy’s list and had finally decided on a name for Harry:  Singe.  As long as he was a dragon, he would be called Singe. It made sense to Harry and it worked for his form.

__


	28. Where's Harry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/n – I’ve found at least three different sources of where the infirmary is, and they all claim different floors. So for Burnt, let’s just make it the 3rd or 4th story and be done with it.

**Chapter 28 – Where’s Harry?**

Harry was bored and frustrated and angry that Dumbledore was at the root of everything _still_.

He had tried to rearrange himself into a comfortable position, but after a couple of warning glares from Madame Pomfrey, he had given up. He did find it interesting that the small woman was still capable of conveying such a frightening glance when he was in this form.

Luckily the window beside Teddy’s bed was slightly cracked, and it allowed his more than proficient nose to explore the smells carried in on the breeze. He was glad that Pomfrey hadn’t discovered the open window, given the chill in the air, but he supposed that she and his father had more than enough things on their plates at present.

He glanced over to Severus. His father had a number of books spread out on a bed in front of him, and was feverishly trying to look up a countercharm to the spell that Dumbledore had used. Severus occasionally would leave the room to go raid the headmaster’s bookshelf, but he was only gone briefly each time.

His grandfather, on the other hand—claw?—was always there at the door to Dumbledore’s room. From time to time, Singe would hear a conversation filtered in from Severus and Moody, but he wasn’t really paying very close attention to either man.

His new body was clamouring at him for attention, and he was beginning to have difficulties ignoring it. He wanted to be _outside_ exploring. He wanted to try his wings and stretch his legs and roar loudly enough to make everyone around hear him. He was hungry and his throat hurt from trying to hold in his flames.

Once more, his eyes went to the slightly open window and he used his snout to push it open a wee bit more.

 _Maybe I could just lean out a bit?_ He thought; taking notice of how far off the ground they were.

He put his head out the window and took a deep breath of the cold Scottish air. Steam rose up in front of his snout and he put a claw up on the windowsill, pushing the window open farther. He could see the Forbidden Forest from this distance, but more importantly, he could _smell_ it. There were things moving in there—potentially tasty things—and before he knew it, he was crouched on the ledge, teetering precariously.

 _“Harry!?”_ He heard his father say in his head, followed by the echoing sound of, “Singe!” He heard his father shout.

The surprise jostled him and suddenly he was falling falling falling— _FLYING._

It was glorious. He was free. No more crutch; no more leg that only half worked. His wings hardly needed any instruction to move him forward in the icy winter air. They reacted to the merest of whims and with a happy roar he took off through the sky.

. . .

 _“Harry!?”_ Severus tried to call out across their mental link.

“Singe!” He yelled aloud as his son turned dragon leapt from the window. He goggled as the window briefly reshaped itself around Harry’s large form before returning to its normal dimensions.

“Damn it!” Moody cursed as Severus rushed to the window.

He leaned out and watched as Singe roared and blew flames up into the already darkening afternoon sky. Reaching out across their mental link, Severus tried to get a response from his son, but all he could feel was a rush of unrestrained joy.

“He’s flying toward the Forbidden Forest,” Severus growled, turning to Moody.

The older man’s normal eye was squinted and his mouth was pressed into a thin unhappy line.

“Hopefully he won’t run into anythin’ bigger’n him in there,” Moody grunted, knuckles white around his wand.

Severus took a deep breath as he mentally scanned his options. They weren’t many.

“I’m going to Hagrid’s cabin and get him to help me. He’ll likely be glad to help, given the involvement of a dragon. Stay here with Dumbledore,” Severus said quickly, already striding for the exit.

“You wan’ me ta help Poppy with readin’?” Moody called out as he got to the doorway of the infirmary.

Looking back over the still unconscious occupants of Poppy’s domain, Severus sneered his answer. “If you can read that well, be my guest.”

He turned before he could see Moody’s two-fingered response.

. . .

Singe was working on finishing off his second cow when he felt the ground begin to rumble under his claws. Suddenly a group of centaurs burst into the clearing that he had landed in and began to point arrows and spears at him. He shrieked in indignation and rose up onto his hind legs with his wings open to emphasize just how much _bigger_ he was than them. Jets of flames came from his nostrils and several trees around him burst into flame from the superheated air.

He was pleased when the majority of them backed up, but he still didn’t like the sight of so many sharp objects pointed at him. A male centaur with no weapons and his hands raised eased himself forward as most of the rest of the herd continued to retreat.

Singe shrieked his displeasure as the creature in front of him continued to move into his personal space, but he managed to refrain from lighting him on fire.

The centaur’s eyes were dark and they met Singe’s sight with a deep calmness that he was unable to resist. Slowly he put his foreclaws back on the earth and cocked his head to the side as a voice made itself heard within his mind.

_“This is protected ground, little one. Are you lost?”_

He narrowed his eyes and snorted smoke at the centaur man.

 _“Hungry. Not lost,”_ He answered silently. And to be honest, he wasn’t even particularly hungry anymore.

_“There is a half-giant at the edge of the forest who can provide you with food. His face is very furry and he is prone to excitement, but his hands are gentle. He will not harm you. I cannot promise the same for the other denizens of this forest.”_

_“Hagrid. I know him,”_ Harry answered. He was surprised that he understood anyone other than Severus, but he was glad that they had tried to talk to him first before attacking him.

 _Severus—_ the thought made him start and shake his head slightly. _Where is Severus?_ His hunger had made him act without thinking and suddenly he felt very ashamed. _Am I a Gryffindor or a Slytherin?_

 _“We will escort you to his dwelling then,”_ The centaur informed him.

He narrowed his eyes at the creature’s order, but finally decided to agree.

 _“I can find it myself,”_ He growled, breaking their connection as his powerful wings took him to the air.

. . .

Hagrid was gone when Singe got to his cabin, but it smelled like he hadn’t been gone for very long. He could also smell Severus’ scent, and he fought the urge to go back into the Forbidden Forest to look for him.

Singe lightly banged his head on the side of the cabin. He was an idiot.

 _“Father?”_ He called out across their mental link.

He was the biggest idiot ever.

 _“Harry? Singe?”_ He heard Severus’ voice and collapsed in a heap by Hagrid’s door in relief. _“Blast it, child. Don’t do that to me!”_

Harry put his clawed forepaws over his head in shame.

_“Where are you?”_

_“Hagrid’s cabin,”_ Singe answered morosely.

_“Don’t go anywhere. Hagrid and I will be there in ten minutes at the most.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

After a few more minutes of wallowing in self-pity, he sat up and cocked his head to the side. What was that strange scent coming from Hagrid’s cabin?

He checked around him, but it was dark and he couldn’t see or smell his father anywhere.

_I just want to look. Just a quick look._

He pushed Hagrid’s door open with a claw and angled his head inside. It was very warm, almost too warm. Squeezing his wings against his body, he managed to work his way almost entirely into Hagrid’s cabin. His tail was still outside, but he hardly noticed it so intent was he on the thing in the middle of the room sitting innocently on a nest of blankets on top of the table. It was an egg—a big egg.

He raised a claw up to the egg’s surface and tapped it lightly. The awareness that was prickling at the edges of his mind suddenly blossomed into full force.

 _“Hello?”_ He questioned it. His claw was still on the egg and he could feel it vibrating.

A wash of feelings rushed over him as the creature within the egg answered him.

_“Me you us here there where? Alone not alone here you here we’re here together here.”_

Singe hardly noticed that the egg begun cracking. He was completely transfixed on the newly awakened existence that was reaching out to him. A low rumble began to work its way out of his chest, something that would have been akin to a purr in anything other than a six foot reptile.

 _“I’m here. We’re here together,”_ Singe reassured the small life that was burgeoning within his mind.

He barely noticed Severus and Hagrid’s arrival, nor their subsequent argument. His entire world was focused inward on one thing.

When it finally hatched—when _she_ finally met his eyes—the outside world suddenly ballooned up around him again.

“Singe?” He heard his father ask; the word echoed in his father’s mind a moment after his mouth moved.

 _“Child?”_ He heard his father ask directly in his mind.

The egg cracked further as she worked her way out, and then suddenly it was over. There was a little wrinkled baby dragon— _a hatchling,_ his mind provided out of nowhere—sprawled on the table in front of them. The rumbling purr in his chest increased in volume, and the little one lifted her head to stare unceasingly back at him.

The moment was broken when she sneezed and a small burst of flame burst from her mouth.

He heard Hagrid’s coo echoed through Severus’ own perception, but it didn’t really register until the large man took a step toward _his_ hatchling. Quite abruptly, the pleased rumble in his chest turned feral and he bared his teeth threateningly toward him.

Thankfully, Hagrid stopped all forward movement and Singe relaxed minutely.   The hatchling was easy to tuck under one arm as he moved back outside. Singe began melting the snow outside Hagrid’s cabin with quiet precision until withered grass appeared. Putting her down next to the cabin, he began to dig a nest out of the frozen ground.

His work was interrupted as Severus reappeared in his peripheral.

 _“Will you let me help? I can remove the dirt a bit faster with magic,”_ His father offered.

Cocking his head to the side, Singe pondered the offer before acquiescing. Minutes later, a hole deep enough to hold him and his hatchling had been dug out. After another short mental conference with his father, Singe breathed fire over the edges of the nest. In turn, Severus charmed his flames to continue to burn without fuel and also to withstand wind and wet.

Pleased with his fire ringed nest, Singe gathered his hatchling to his side and lay down. It was time for a nap. He slept with one eye open, the better to protect the little one at his side. He wasn’t entirely certain he trusted Hagrid not to let curiosity get the better of him. He genuinely liked the man, but he wouldn’t be responsible for his reaction should the large man try to steal his own.

. . .

The next morning was only notable in that Severus Snape’s owl made a handful of trips throughout the Great Hall before finally making its way to the infirmary. At exactly ten that morning, he swept into the infirmary in a manner much reminiscent to his entrances to his classroom. Waiting for him next to Teddy’s bedside were Hermione Granger, Millicent Bulstrode and Neville Longbottom.  

Moody was also there, although his primary purpose was as guard to Dumbledore’s room. The headmaster was due to be transferred to a cell in the Ministry before too long, but no one knew exactly when. It was better not to take chances when the old man was involved.

Surprisingly, Neville Longbottom was the first to speak once they were all assembled. Intelligently, he waited for Snape to spell the room silent against any possible listening ears before asking the one question they all most wanted the answer to.

“Sir? Where’s Harry?”

 


	29. Albus' Story

From Chapter 28 –

_“Sir? Where’s Harry?”_

_. . ._

“That’s why I asked you to be here,” Snape answered in a monotone voice. With a wave of his wand, he summoned a chair over and sat down.

“Is he all right, at least?” Hermione’s voice trembled, but very bravely, she did not allow her tears to fall.

“He is alive, yes. He has not been . . . hurt, per se,” Snape allowed.

His lips pursed as he fought to find a way to explain what had happened, despite not yet understanding the situation in full himself.

“Where is he, sir?” Neville’s voice was quiet, but there was an underlying fissure of tension in it that made Snape look searchingly at the young boy.

“He’s on the grounds currently. He’s—well, blast it.”

All four students jerked in surprise at his use of a curse word—never mind how mild.

“He’s been turned into a dragon.”

“Pardon!?” Hermione’s shriek rung painfully in his ears.

He put a hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes shut.

“If I could explain it, I would.” He gave a wave toward the many piles of texts surrounding him and Teddy’s bedsides. “I’m sure that all of you are aware of Harry’s less than positive upbringing, yes?”

Millicent and Teddy glanced at one another as Hermione slowly nodded in the affirmative. Neville only stared at him, before opening his mouth.

“I’m not certain that we should talk about it without his presence,” The Longbottom heir stated slowly.

“Normally, I would agree with you, Mr Longbottom, but these are hardly normal situations. Harry’s state seems to be directly tied to his childhood, such as it was. Although I am currently not at liberty to tell you the details of how Harry came to be in his state, I can assure you that both myself and auror Moody are handling the situation as best as we may, given the situation.”

“But what _is_ the situation?” Hermione pleaded. “How did Harry end up like this? Can you still communicate to him? He isn’t capable of talking somehow, is he? Is—?”

Snape put up a hand to stop the seemingly unending stream of questions.

“I believe that I already told you that I cannot discuss your first question. As for your second, let me say this. I have a found a way to mentally speak with him in a manner reminiscent to the muggles’ concept of telepathy.”

Only Hermione seemed shocked at this revelation. Teddy was already aware of the situation, and Neville and Millicent were uncertain of the term, ‘telepathy.’ After a quick explanation from Snape, their expressions slowly morphed into something resembling Hermione’s own.

“So, telepathy isn’t a normal thing in the wizarding world?” Hermione slowly asked.

Snape’s mouth creaked briefly upward at her question.

“No, it is not. There is a branch of magic that allows one to look into a person’s thoughts and memories, but it is not common. Nor, does it allow someone to transmit words across minds. Linked minds are somewhat unheard of, all told.”

Snape saw the gleam in Hermione’s eyes that was caused at his words. He had no doubt that she would head off to the library at the next nearest convenience. He would need to spell them under some sort of loyalty oath before they left the Infirmary. Most of the school already knew that something strange was happening near Hagrid’s cabin, but thankfully their privacy spells had managed to hold thus far. Maybe they would even be able to revert Harry to his normal state before being discovered by some student with fewer brains than guts, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. At least he knew that it wouldn’t be any of his Snakes doing such a foolish thing.

He hoped not, anyway.

“What can we do, sir?” Teddy asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.

“I don’t think that there’s very much you _can_ do at this point. Of course, an extra set of eyes might be helpful while we research, but I very much doubt you will find something where we have not,” He said, waving an arm over to where Pomfrey and Moody were still embroiled in several large books.

“Would it help if we were to try and talk with Harry?” Millicent’s question was softly spoken.

“I doubt he will be able to communicate with you at all. You would have to demonstrate everything with visuals, but he has already told me that his eyesight is just as bad—if not worse—than it was as a human.”

He glanced up at Hermione and raised a hand to hold off her impending question.

“Our biggest problem right now is finding a way to make Harry remember how to be human again. And perhaps even more importantly, we have to convince him that his life would be better off in his human form.”

“Is it, sir?” Neville’s question caused Hermione’s eyes to widen almost comically in surprise.

“I would hope that his future as a human is something to look forward to,” Snape answered slowly.

His heart ached at the thought of gaining a son only to lose him so soon after. But he kept that to himself. Not all things needed to be shared with the first years sitting in front of him.

. . .

“He’s asking for you,” Madame Pomfrey informed Moody several hours after Amelia Bones had finally made her departure.

Both of Moody’s eyes had narrowed and he’d given Severus a quick glance. Lately, the other man had a scowl permanently etched into his face, but the corners of his mouth managed to turn down even farther at this announcement.

“It could be a trap,” Severus suggested.

“I s’pect it’s too much to hope he’s suddenly developed a guilty conscience?” Moody bit out with a growl.

“Probably his ego is demanding a chance to be heard,” Severus nearly hissed.

“I’ll see if I can’t use it to our advantage then,” Moody nodded and stood up with a groan.

Merlin, he didn’t need to sit in one place for such long lengths of time.

“I will wait just outside the door,” Severus responded, dropping his wand into his hand.

. . .

“How is it possible?”

“How is what possible?” Moody grunted.

“How could he go against my will? I commanded him to stop and he did not. How is that possible?”

“Lad’s got a mind of his own,” Moody offered. If he could make Dumbledore _talk_ , they might get some much needed answers, some non-coerced answers.

“It shouldn’t have mattered,” Albus whispered. “I made him. I _am_ his creator.”

“What’re yeh on about now?”

Moody watched as Albus turned wild blue eyes his way.

The story that spilled from the headmaster’s lips was surreal. Under Veritaserum, he and Bones had gotten the bare bones of the story from him, but he knew that there was much more than what they had heard. A truth serum—even one as strong Snape’s—still required the use of the correct questions in order to find the answers. And as is often the situation, Albus’ answers had only caused more questions.

The tale that the headmaster told _this_ time was much clearer and more complete.

It seemed that Flamel was not the only one involved. Moody had to wonder if the creator of the philosopher’s stone had known what Dumbledore had planned to do with the spell. Flamel had always been portrayed as neutral or light in the stories, but then again, so had Albus. Seemingly, they were all standing on a plateau of paradigm shifts. It seemed that Flamel had helped him fine tune the spell, but the original creation of it had come from Grindelwald himself.

Never before had he imagined their minds were so closely aligned. The past year was already making him re-evaluate everything he thought he had known of the old man. This was simply further proof that the man that he had once thought of as a friend no longer lived behind those familiar blue eyes.

With the theoretical help of the aforementioned wizards, Albus had performed a highly dark, a highly _illegal_ ritual that used a pure emotion as its catalyst. Somewhat similar to Fiendfyre, it caused a physical manifestation to be borne out of the body that housed the emotion. According to Albus, humans were rarely used, given their conflicting feelings and complex natures.

However, Grindelwald and now Dumbledore—Moody refused to think of him as Albus anymore. _Albus_ had been his friend. Dumbledore was someone—something else entirely. Essentially, Grindelwald and Dumbledore had theorized that a human could be used in the ritual of _Puer Ignis_ provided that they were raised in some kind of environment that not only _encouraged_ anger, but essentially gave no other alternative.

“And I s’pose the Dursleys fit right into this plan of yours?” Moody asked, his stomach churning at the implications.

He watched Dumbledore’s placid expression morph into a sneer not unlike one of Severus’ own.

“Until they lost him, they were quite adequate for the job,” Dumbledore stated crisply, his long gnarled hands twisting in the bed sheets. “But then again, Muggles never could quite understand the _importance_ of wizarding affairs.”

Moody thought his eyebrows would permanently disappear into his hairline at this pronouncement.

“Though,” Dumbledore’s mouth morphed into a very frightening smile, “I suppose that they understand that fallacy _now_.”

“You—,” He found himself unable to voice it. “Even the boy?”

“I don’t care for leaving loose ends around. If I could go back and redo Harry’s early years, I would have never let him out of my sight.” Dumbledore frowned. “But that still does not explain why my command failed. Tell me, Alastor,” The man turned burning eyes in his direction. “What have you done to my weapon?”

 


	30. Home Sweet Hole

**Chapter 30 – Home Sweet Hole**

Singe turned his nose up at Hagrid’s offer of brandy for his baby. Baby seemed interested, but he pulled her back down into their nest and shoved the bucket away with a clawed forearm.

In turn, Hagrid held up a thick tome and started gesticulating energetically at one of the pages within.

Singe rolled his eyes and growled deep within his chest. This seemed to do the trick and Hagrid stepped back away from them in apology.

There wasn’t much time to relax though. Singe’s sharp nose soon picked up the scent of three or four other persons strolling slowly in their direction. Quickly he caught Baby’s tail and dragged her back down under his wing. She seemed intent on exploring as much as possible, but his senses told him that her protection was more important than her curiosity.

He looked to Hagrid and waited for the large man to notice their visitors. He seemed to notice about the same time that Singe was able to see them. That was the only thing he really missed about his physical self; his eyesight was actually _better_ as a human, and of course he missed being able to talk to his Grandfather and others like his friends.

 _“Well, speak of the devil_ ,” was his next thought.

 _“Hmm?”_ His father replied distantly, as though preoccupied with something else.

 _“My friends are here”,_ Singe explained mentally.

 _“So they are,”_ Was Severus’ noncommittal response.

_“You knew?”_

_“I suggested it”,_ His father answered.

_“But I can’t talk to them like this.”_

_“Correct.”_

_“But—,”_ Singe was confused. What was the point of his friends visiting if he couldn’t interact? He snorted a bit of smoke in frustration.

 _“Perhaps they will surprise you,”_ Was his father’s ambiguous response.

Singe paused and thought over that.

 _“They usually do,”_ He admitted a few heartbeats later.

He looked up and saw Hagrid interacting with Hermione. She was gesturing as she talked, and he felt more than a little bit homesick at the sight. He put his head on his front paws and grumbled, emitting some more black smoke as he did. Absentmindedly, he reached out and caught Baby as she tried to pop her head out and see who was there. He slid her back down under his wing and mentally admonished her, ignoring her pleas of, “ _Want want want!”_

He looked up as Teddy waved at him.

In return, he nodded at his friend, feeling somewhat awkward while doing so. Hermione turned in his direction then and smiled brightly at him.   He cocked his head to the side, and shoved Baby back a little further with his wing.

He didn’t react when Hermione pulled out her wand, but he wanted to. His dragon senses were screaming DANGER at him, but his human mind was arguing just as vehemently that this was _Hermione_. She wouldn’t hurt _him_. Not Hermione.

Merlin save them all if his belief turned out to be false.

Hermione moved closer still as his other three friends shuffled nervously slightly behind her. He watched in bemusement as arcs of fire began to spout from the tip of her wand. They were making shapes; they were making _words._

And with a little squinting and head turning, he suddenly realised that he could _read_ them.

‘WE MISSED YOU AT DINNER,’ Said the first message.

It made him snort and stomp his foot in amusement. His sudden change in behaviour caused Baby to try to move upward, but he swiftly caught her hind leg and pulled her back down to safety.

The words faded as Hermione began to write new ones in their place. Her lower lip was caught in-between her teeth as she concentrated on their construction. Singe realised that she had to write them all backward in order for him to read them, and his estimation of her intelligence and ability increased once more.

‘IS THAT A DRAGON UNDER YOU?’

His paws clawed the earth in agitation at her question. What good was it keeping Baby under wraps if she kept peering out? Finally, he opted to answer her question with a jerky nod.

 _‘Naughty Baby,’_ He mentally added toward Baby.

She didn’t have a lower lip to poke out, but her response felt similar. It was pitiful and not at all helpful, and he as much as told her that.

‘CAN YOU TALK TO HER TOO?’

He gave another jerky nod. It reminded him that dragons didn’t really seem to have the ability to nod, and he felt his annoyance grow. If he ever saw Dumbledore again, he’d give _him_ something to think about. Something lasting. Something miserable.

Clearly sensing that he was getting agitated, his friends backed away from him. He focused back on the outside world and realised that he was breathing flames from his mouth. Oops. He reined them in, but couldn’t help but remember his anger. The appearance of his friends reminded him that he _had_ friends and that bothered him. He had had allies before, but having friends was a new concept; one that he thus far enjoyed.

‘BEING A DRAGON ISN’T FOREVER.’

Where had that come from? Hermione was still standing near him bravely, showing her Gryffindor courage. Her face had a determined cast to it and he wanted to tell her not to be upset.

But he couldn’t. So he put his head down where Baby was trying to sneak out again and covered his head with his paws. He couldn’t talk to his friends—his very first friends—and that upset him. What was the good of catching Dumbledore if he refused to return him to his human state? What was the point of being a dragon if he couldn’t hurt the ones who had hurt him?

He looked down at Baby and watched as she gently head-butted him. He licked her head and she sent warm feelings at him over their link.

Baby was a good thing, but he wanted his friends and his family. He wanted them so much it ached inside his heart and stomach.

. . .

Severus threw the book he had been reading down in disgust. It was depressing to think of how few books there were on animagi. Moody’s search through possible dark rituals was also going slowly. It was starting to seem as though there was not going to be a viable solution in any of the rare tomes that Severus had scavenged from either the Restricted Section or the old man’s office. It had always been little more than a low possibility, but damn it, Severus had been hopeful.

“Anything?” Moody’s low growl distracted him from his mental mutterings.

“Not a blessed thing. Every animagus in here was changed into a reptile through voluntary means. Only three cases resulted from accidental magic, and even those cases were easily corrected through the use of known spells,” Severus groused.

With an exasperated sigh he tossed, ‘Your Cold-Blooded Child’ onto the pile of discarded books.

“I wonder . . .” Severus stopped in thought and turned back to a book deeper within the discarded pile.

“Care on sharin’ wit’ the class, Snape?” Moody grunted, giving a tired grunt.

“According to ‘Magikal Messes of Orphans and Squibs,” Severus said, thumbing to the appropriate page, “Children who presented with complex difficulties in seemingly unchangeable magical situations were more likely to have been raised in multiple locations with few strong experiences in safety.”

“Glad you understood all that, Snape,” Moody answered.

His gnarled fingers massaged his temples as he spoke and Severus rolled his eyes.

“I saw that,” Moody snapped testily.

“Of course you did,” Severus answered with only slight annoyance.

He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a vial of headache potion.

“Here, catch,” Severus said quietly as he tossed the vial to Moody. It was in an unbreakable vial, but he didn’t feel like telling the insufferable old man that.

“Damn it, Snape!” Moody shouted as he fumbled for the slippery little vial. “Poppy’ll have me head if I make a mess in here.”

“And she will too!” The aforementioned woman shouted from the other end of the room.

Her words caused both men to look at one another and visibly shudder. Being at her mercy when one was hurt was bad enough. For a moment, Severus felt guilty, but then he remembered how unmerciful Moody had been during his supposed ‘infatuation’ period. Severus sneered at the memory and then in turn at the man opposite him. The idea of Moody bedding him was enough to wipe his mind clean of any other thoughts aside from extreme disgust.

“Take it and listen,” Severus continued.

“And if I don’t?” Moody’s tone was challenging and somewhat petulant.

“Then don’t,” Severus retorted sharply, his dark eyes glaring at the other man.

“Hmph,” Was all the other man said before tossing back the medicine.

A few heartbeats later and the man looked much better. The colour returned to his cheeks and his forehead no longer looked so pinched.

“Was that so bad?” Severus couldn’t help but ask.

“Yea,” Moody said, crossing his arms and trying to look pitiful.

“Try harder,” Severus suggested with a smirk.

“Arse,” Moody muttered, not looking at him.

“Now, as I was saying before your unfortunate little _divergence,_ I think I have an idea about how to help Harry.”

“Listenin’,” Moody grunted.

“I think you need to take me to where you found him. I need to see what kind of place he was living in before he came to Hogwarts.”

“An’ how’s that s’posed to help anythin’?”

“In order to help Harry feel safest, I need to know what sorts of inconsistencies he lived with before.”

“An’ my tellin’ yah isn’t enough?” Moody asked.

“You should know it’s not. You might have been an auror, but I am a Slytherin.”

“An’?”

“Slytherins are taught how to make assessments from an early age.”

“So, yer point?”

“My point is that we often think the same way. We hide our secrets from common sight, even in adverse situations. Perhaps especially in adverse situations. I need to see how his life was lived during the interim between here and his despicable relative’s house. And then we must visit that house. We can never hope to provide true safety for him if we don’t know the extent of his needs.”

Moody was silent long enough for Severus to feel the need to prompt him.

“What do you think of my idea?”

Moody huffed and crossed his arms and looked at the wall.

“Spit it out. You’re not just wasting my time, you’re also wasting Harry’s.”

“I know that,” Moody muttered. “I guess you have a point.”

“Are you saying that I might be right?” Severus clapped a hand to his heart and gave a dramatic sigh. “What an earth shattering supposition!”

“Might be right, _might be_ ,” Moody stressed as they pulled themselves upright and headed to the Infirmary floo.

Moody nodded to the auror on guard next to Dumbledore’s door.

“I’ll send a message to Bones to let her know yeh need another auror here,” Moody stated.

Severus watched as Moody cast the patronus and sent a silver white badger out of his wand to deliver his words to the DMLE head.

“A badger?” Severus asked as they reached the floo.

“Vicious little creature,” Moody answered, throwing a pinch of floo powder in.

“Where are we headed?”

“Diagon,” Moody said. “I’ll apparate us from there. If yeh don’t mind me touchin’ yeh,” The man said with a laugh. “Diagon Alley,” He called out clearly before stepping into the green flames.

“Lovely,” Severus said with a look of distaste before repeating the older man and following him through the fireplace.

 


	31. Dumbledore's Foe

**The end of chapter 30:**

_"_ _Where are we headed?"_

_"_ _Diagon," Moody said. "I'll apparate us from there. If yeh don't mind me touchin' yeh," The man said with a laugh. "Diagon Alley," He called out clearly before stepping into the green flames._

_"_ _Lovely," Severus said with a look of distaste before repeating the older man and following him through the fireplace._

**Chapter 31 - Dumbledore's Foe**

Snape shook off Moody's hand with an expression of disgust.

"That is the last time I let you apparate me anywhere," He announced with a displeased expression.

Stepping forward, he narrowly avoided tripping over a broken tricycle. His expression soured further before abruptly becoming blank.

"You found him here?" He asked softly, gesturing at the ramshackle house in front of him.

They were in the front yard—if one could call the overgrown expanse of frozen weeds and gnarled bushes such—of a house that had once been painted blue, judging from the scattered paint chips still bravely hanging onto the boards.

The neighbouring houses were vaguely visible through the thick trees that blanketed both sides of the yard. The houses seemed to be built very closely together, too closely for his tastes, and certainly for Moody's sensibilities.

Behind them, on the opposite side of the road, ran a medium sized stone wall, and standing atop that was a copse of small trees that looked to have been planted within the past decade or so, if he were to make a guess. He supposed that estate agents might describe the environment here as, "Cosy," but he preferred to make his home in a place that was more than a stone's throw from the next residence.

"Where are we?" Severus asked, his voice still soft.

Through the fence he could hear the sounds of a neighbouring family arriving home. Their words were easy to pick out, and he subtly cast a weak _muffliato,_ not wanting his conversation to travel any further than the twisted man beside him. Then, with a glance down at his and Moody's robes, he sighed and cast the Disillusionment charm over them both.

"Dorking," Moody answered gruffly, nodding in apparent approval over Severus' choice of spells.

Severus glanced sharply at the man and raised an eyebrow.

"How in Merlin's name did he manage to stay hidden in a town of this size?"

"He didn't, not entirely. That's how I found 'im," Moody admitted slowly, his real eye staring fixedly at the decrepit building in front of this.

It was _not_ a home. Severus refused to think that his snake—his _son_ —would have lived in such a place as this. It was a shelter and nothing more.

"Why didn't the authorities pick him up?"

"I 'spect they did, from time ta time," Moody said with a sigh.

"And then?"

"Seems that our boy's a bit sneaky," Moody answered with a wry grin.

"Really," Severus deadpanned.

"From what I can gather," The older man answered thoughtfully, avoiding Severus' intent glare. "Albus liked ta swoop in and obliviate the officials before they could figure out what ta do with him. Then he'd drop Harry back off at the Dursleys and the whole mess would start ag'in."

Dark hate bubbled through Severus' heart and gut at the grizzled auror's words, and he turned his face away to avoid letting him see how much his words had affected him. White lipped, he gritted his hands into fists to try and drive back the merciless angry magic that threatened to rip out of his soul and destroy everything around them.

"What do you mean about finding him?" Severus managed after a long minute of uncomfortable silence.

Moody turned away from him with a sigh, and Severus took the opportunity to really look at his _esteemed_ companion. The old man's features were drawn more than usually, and his hands were twisted tightly in his crumpled robes. After being around one another for as long as they had—and wasn't that a _terrifying_ epiphany—he could honestly say that he had never seen the other man look as uncomfortable as he did now.

"Moody," Severus prompted softly.

"Me sister's a squib," Moody stated, staring off into the distance with an intensity that Severus had rarely seen from the older man.

"I wasn't aware that you had a sibling," Severus admitted.

"No one knows 'cept for Albus."

Severus' eyes squinted in suspicion.

"And that matters, because?" He held up a hand to hold off Moody's inevitable arguments. "It obviously matters, you old idiot. Tell me."

Moody frowned and turned back toward him with a glare rivalling one of Severus' own.

"There was a point in me life that being related ta a squib was an issue, because of me job. There was a job that Albus wanted done that I refused, and . . ." Moody trailed off, gnawing on his lip furiously.

"And what?" He pressed, moving into Moody's personal space with a moue of distaste.

"And she was attacked the next day by a couple of masked men."

Severus eyebrows raised briefly in surprise.

"Where was she?"

"Outskirts of Hogsmeade. She took my mum's family name, and we don't ever meet in person. Just owls."

Severus mulled over his words, thinking of what Moody hadn't said.

"You never told Albus about your sister? Was he headmaster when you went to Hogwarts? Hang on, did you even _go_ to Hogwarts?" Severus' questions were rapid fire.

"I went ta Hogwarts, ya git. Next thing you'll ask is if I can read. I can do that too, just so ya know," Moody's lips twisted into the semblance of a sneer.

Severus scowled and took a much needed step backward away from the infuriating man in front of him.

"Don't go getting yer knickers in a twist over lil ol' me," Moody spat.

His words were challenging, but his guarded stance spoke of the other man's deep discomfort with the conversation.

"Was Dumbledore headmaster then? I imagine that you would have seen him a great deal if he had been. Just how _bad_ was your record of truancy, anyway?" Severus asked with a sneer that he didn't really feel.

If Moody wanted to hide behind the patterns of their usual conversations, then it wouldn't be much of a hardship to continue doing so. After all, any excuse to insult the retired auror was a positive in Severus' book.

"Says the man who skipped most of second year Charms," Moody chortled back at him.

"I do not want to know why you even know that. It seems that the line between policing agent and criminal is never very thick, is it?"

Moody's tooth filled grin was his only answer.

"My gods man, have you really never heard of a toothbrush? I can see entire civilizations between those rotted stumps you call teeth," Severus needled.

"Bit rich comin' from you, mangle mouth!"

"At least as a halfblood I have reasons for such teeth. As a pureblood, you should have realised that there were alternates to such slovenly practices. I would venture a guess that your sister has perfectly nice teeth. She probably even bathes and wears the occasional clean shirt!"

The buoyant mood that had briefly sprung up between them instantly plummeted.

"Fuck, Snape," Moody growled, rolling his eyes skyward.

"No, thank you," Severus answered with the barest edge of a grin.

"Albus had no business knowing about her. Wasn't my head of house, wasn't the headmaster, wasn't even in the political games much then."

"When?"

"Back in '68. I only was assistant ta the head auror then. Albus was good at making predictions, ya see. Knew I'd be head auror before the year was out."

"Do you think he helped these predictions come true?"

"Some of them, yeah. Mostly though, he was good at watchin' it all go down. Good at seein' things that other people didn't notice, patterns and the like. Helped me out on a few cases here 'n there."

"And you're certain that he had no reason to know about your sister?" Severus asked.

Suddenly paranoid, despite the active spells around them, he motioned Moody closer to the front of the house.

"Is there any reason why we can't continue this conversation inside?"

"Other than the smell, you mean," Moody grumbled, moving his wand in a series of complex motions before opening the door.

Walking forward and feeling the tingle of wards merely confirmed his suspicions. The only light was from the front windows, and Severus really didn't want to know what the terribly smelling room looked like beyond the little he could see.

"These are your wards."

It wasn't a question.

"Listen ta me, Snape, and you listen good," Moody closed the door only to recast the same wards he had just undone. "Me mum died when I was a fifth year in Hogwarts. Sam was only ten."

"Sam is your sister?"

Moody jerked his head in a sharp nod.

"What of your father?"

"What of yours?" Moody sounded more than a little bitter, and even though Severus would have liked to curse him for the statement, he knew it would get them exactly nowhere.

"Touché," He said with a scowl, letting it slide momentarily.

"A cousin took her in, but said they couldn't take me too," Moody shrugged.

He suspected that there was more not being said, but he didn't press any further. Silently, he cast the bubbleheaded charm around himself and then around Moody as well. Something had died in this house, possibly in the same room they were currently standing in. He hoped Moody didn't light any of the candle stumps he could see on the windowsill beside them. His imagination was creating enough horrors without the confirmation that the light would give him.

 _Harry_.

"And who knew?" He asked, forcefully pushing his mind away from the physical unknowns surrounding them.

"No one, Snape. No one 'cept me and Sam and o' course our cousin."

"Is your cousin a squib as well?"

"Was, and no. He wasn't much with a wand, but he got by."

It seemed that Moody's cousin had been homeschooled after not receiving a Hogwarts invitation. He was competent in basic spells, more so than anything Filch had ever managed, but not much more. He had been a bootmaker until his death, and afterward Moody's sister had moved to Hogsmeade on her own.

"Hogsmeade is hardly a large town," He pointed out. "How do you know that Dumbledore didn't merely ask around? Hell, he could have even known her himself."

"Yeah, 'cept for her being deaf, that theory woulda worked out well."

Severus was fairly certain that he hadn't heard that right.

"Deaf?"

"Couldn't hear? Like you're bein' now?" Moody taunted.

"Why didn't you tell _us_ before?"

"Fuck if I know," Moody shoved his hands in his armpits and turned his back to him. "This whol' Harry and you thing seems more like a dream than anythin' else. Hell if I know what I'm doing anymore."

His last sentence was muttered in a barely audible voice.

"You are hardly the only one with that problem," Severus admitted stiffly.

"Doesn't much seem like it," Moody admitted, turning partially back toward him.

"Was that a compliment?" Severus asked, trying to drag the conversation back out of the depths it had sunk into.

"Wouldn't answer that even if I did like ya."

"Was she hurt?"

"Lost use of her arm. Attackers just 'bout took it off. After that, I changed her name, removed her from the records. Moved her and obliviated anyone who had ever seen her. She used ta dye her hair and now she's grey. Used to wear it long, but cuts it short now. Wears contacts and lives in a new fucking town, and we communicate via a system that looks like muggle post, but that's really owls that I change frequently, and I got just about every single damn anti-tracking charm on it that's known to wizardkind and even a few that's not. If he ever, and I mean _ever_ even thinks about _looking_ at her again, I'm going to cut out his heart and feed it ta him. Ya get me, Snape? It ain't happenin' again and I never do what I promise him and . . ." His burst stopped just as suddenly as it had started and he slumped against the grimy windows beside them.

Severus grabbed the front of his robes before he could hit the floor, and dumped him into a hastily conjured chair.

"You look like shit, Alastor," Severus pointed out none too charitably.

Moody snorted and gave him a two fingered salute for his effort.

. . .

_Minerva._

The voice woke her up. She looked around the Infirmary, trying to see who had spoken to her, but there was no one there. Just as she was chalking it up to a bad dream, the voice spoke in her mind again.

_Minerva. You must help me._

"Who's there?" Minerva whispered into the silence.

_It's Albus, my dear child. It's Albus. They have locked me up in this room. They have locked me up and taken away my wand. You must rescue me._

"Who locked you up? Where are you?" She asked aloud, standing up and taking a wobbly step forward.

_Aurors. Severus and Moody are traitors to our cause. They have stolen Harry and locked me here._

"Where's here?"

_The Infirmary._

"Professor?"

Minerva whirled toward the unfamiliar voice, her wand automatically in her hand as she cast a stunning spell. The man opposite her dropped like a sack of potatoes and she stared down at his unmoving body in shock.

_What have I done?_

Distantly, she could hear Albus clambering for her attention, but she ignored him. Instead, she walked straight into the smaller figure of Poppy Pomfrey, and grabbed at the front of the matron's robes with something akin to desperation.

"Poppy. You have to help me," Her voice rose in pitch with every word.

Only casting a look in her direction, Poppy quickly pulled free of her hands and rushed over to the man spread out unconscious upon the floor.

 _Minerva_. Albus' voice pushed back into her consciousness.

She screamed at the sound of it and with all of her energy, she threw her wand far away from her person.

"Put me in restraints, please Poppy, I beg of you. I can hear _Albus'_ voice. I have, I have listened to it for far too long, I fear," She admitted in a very faint voice.

Distantly she heard a groan from the man—the _auror_ —slowly being levitated onto a nearby bed.

"Please, Poppy. I surrender. Please keep me from doing something I already regret."

The last thing she saw was a worried Poppy casting a spell in her direction.

. . .

Albus cursed as his faithful puppet fought against his control. It hadn't happened in _years_ , so why was it happening now?

Unbeknownst to him, Poppy—at the urgings of both Moody and Severus—had been magically purging Minerva of any and all potions or foreign substances from her body.

"Blast it all," Albus cursed to himself.

He had an emergency portkey that worked through Hogwarts' wards, but it only worked one way, and it was held in a rather inconvenient location within his body. It was only a last option, anyway.

Unfortunately, over the next four hours, he slowly came to the realisation that his control over Minerva had not only been weakened, but was nearly non-existent. He cursed again and knew who was to be blamed for this loss.

It could only be his twisted potions master, and the longer he thought about it, the more he wished to express his _displeasure_ to the other man. It was obviously the man's fault that his spell had backfired so spectacularly. His snake had taken Harry from him and now he was _clearly_ responsible for the loss of Minerva.

Albus' lips curled in disgust at the lack of loyalty Severus had shown him in the past year.

"And after I have done so much for him. Without me, he would be nothing! Just a nasty little boy in black robes playing grown-up games!"

It seemed that it was time to reward his spy's extreme disloyalty. With a grimace, he moved to the washroom and proceeded to carefully remove his portkey.


	32. Dumbledore's Last Stand

Dumbledore's portkey deposited him just south of Hagrid's hut, half an hour into dusk.  The old man scowled as he picked himself up from the ground.  It was unusual that a portkey should drop him hard enough to make him stumble.  Somehow he suspected that Hogwarts had something to do with it.  His arse had ached fiercely after the removal of his portkey, and his landing only exacerbated that problem.   How  _unfortunate_  it would be should he run into any of the traitors that had locked him up.  He might be tempted into using a few of the more violent spells in his arsenal to make up for the pain and humiliation he was currently suffering.

Thoughts thus derailed, he completely failed to notice the rather large shadow residing at the darkened edges of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry-dragon, or Singe--as he now referred to himself in his mind--narrowed his eyes as he took in the somewhat disheveled appearance of the once vaunted headmaster.  

 _"Sire?"_  He voiced in his mind.  

He crept forward, thankful to the darkness that was reinforced by the beginning of dusk combined with the smoke from his and Hagrid's respective fires.  Baby popped her head out too, but he automatically shoved her back down behind him.  

  
_Bad_ , he thought with a fierceness that surprised even him.   _Taste nasty.  Don't touch.  I'll get rid of it._  


_"Singe?"_  Severus' voice rumbled deep within his thoughts.  

_"Where is Dumbledore supposed to be?"_

_..._

In Dorking, Severus suddenly stopped and went slightly glassy eyed.

Recognizing the familiar sight of Snape mentally "talking" with his grandson-- _granddragon?--_ Moody took that time to pull out a much worn handkerchief and carefully wipe away any leftover emotional residues from his face.  Tears weren't a concern, as he was fairly certain he no longer had the capability to cry, but snot was a sight better left unseen by the rest of the populace.  And beside, he didn't really care to have something else for Snape to poke fun at, even if it didn't really bother him.  It was far more interesting to poke fun at the other man.  

_"Son?"_  Severus voiced within Singe's mind.

  
_"Dumbledore,"_  Singe repeated, intensity beginning to build in his tone.  _"Where's he supposed to be now?"_  


_"Infirmary, with Poppy,"_   Was his sire's succinct reply.

_"Not free then?"_

Severus shook himself and glanced at Moody before motioning them outside.  

_"Dumbledore is supposed to be under lock and key."  
_

"What's goin' on?" Moody gruff voice broke Severus of his momentary shock.

"Albus is free of the infirmary."

"Blast!"

. . .

He swore as he stumbled again.  The lengthening shadows made seeing difficult, and although he knew that lighting a simple lumos would be simpler said than done, he also didn't want to take on the risk of facing any more trouble before he finally escaped the wards.  

It wasn't far to the Forbidden Forest, and then straight from there to freedom.  He needed to regroup and have time to plan.  He needed time to consider what had gone wrong with his spell over Harry.  He had fed the boy the necessary potions during the first few years of his residency with the Dursleys.  He hadn't expected the damage that an automobile accident would have on his weapon, but it was a workable situation.  

The potions laid the groundwork for the boy's magical instability.  And then from there, it was only a question of putting enough stress for the lad to be pushed into an untenable situation.  He hadn't known that the spell would cause Harry to morph into a _dragon_ , but considering the lad's history, it wasn't entirely unsurprising.  

_Puer ignis_.  Child of Fire.  Fire was far more than just a state of burning.  It was in and of itself a beginning and an end.  Fire cleansed.  Fire started and fire ended.  He and Gellert had created the spell and then he had further _modified_ its original design into something far more dangerous.

Originally, the Child of Fire spell allowed the caster to utilize the turbulent emotions of a child who had not yet reached maturity and turn them into something physical.  The spell was capable of producing power of unimaginable levels, and by binding the child to himself, _he_  would be able to transfer that power to his own core.   _He_ would be able to wield that power, and in doing so, he would enslave the source of that power to himself.  

It had been a brilliant plan, except for one insurmountable detail.  

Harry wasn't bound to him.  All of his compulsion spells, all of his potions . . . all of the work to cover his tracks when the _worthless_  Dursleys had  _lost_  his weapon to the wretched depths of the Muggle world; it was all for naught.  

Perhaps it had been the boy's disability.  Perhaps the Sorting Hat's refusal to sort him into Gryffindor where he _belonged_ had been the straw that broke the chimera's back. 

Whatever the reason, there was still the fact that his weapon was a creature of nearly unlimited destructive power and regardless of what he did, his weapon would never answer to him.  

It was enough to make him smolder.

Dumbledore blinked at the sudden darkness that surrounded him before beginning to cough.  Smoke was billowing across his face like a foul thick fog, and just as he raised his wand to cast a bubble-head charm, his eyes caught on something.

"Lumos!"  He called, not wanting to be caught unawares by whatever creatures felt the need to hunt at the very edge of the forest. 

His breath caught in his throat and he tripped backward over his robes in an attempt to get away from the sharply lined mouth that had appeared less than an arm's length away from his nose.

The beast rising before him was all tooth and claw.  Sharp edges bled into sharper crevices, flowing around him like the murky recesses of a hard to wake from nightmare.

"Harry?  My boy?  Is that you?"

A growl was his only answer.

. . .

Singe half ran, half flew to where he had last seen the headmaster.  A dank fog had started rolling not minutes after the man's graceless landing, obscuring his sight.  He hoped to Merlin and beyond that the man hadn't escaped in the meantime.  

An inhuman screech filled the skies, lifting the scales across his spine in a uncomfortable way, as he burst into the scene at the edge of the forest.  

Dumbledore's wand was out, and Singe watched as the older man threw volley after volley of increasingly violently coloured light at the _fully grown_ Norwegian Ridgeback that was steadily edging him closer and closer to the frozen over lake at his back.  

The dragon was easily the size of a double-decker, possibly two, and Singe felt himself shrink backward away from the fight as he began to understand truly how frightening a full grown dragon was.  Moments later, Baby half skipped-rolled onto the sight of the fight, and then it was abruptly as though time stopped around him. 

Dumbledore, panting wildly from atop bended knee, looked wildly around to try and understand why his nightmare had ceased.  Joining his attacker of flame and nail was another two dragons, one barely an adolescent and the other a mere infant.  

From his right, he heard the tell-tale crack of double apparitions, but his brief hope for rescue died as soon as it began when he realised exactly who was staring back at him from across the pools of melted snow upon Hogwarts' battle singed lawn.

"Ah, Alastor.  Severus.  What grand timing you two have.  I do hope you're here to lend an old man some aid?  I seem to have gotten a wee bit lost on my way to the kitchens for a snack."  

Severus didn't answer him, and instead with a look of great concentration, actually walked straight into the conglomeration of the three dragons opposite him.

"Have you lost what's left of yer brain, ol' man?" Was Moody's incredulous response.  

"Yeh've been arrested.   _I_  bloodly well arrested yeh!"  Moody rolled his eye in tandem with his other.  "Yeh've lost.  Yeh've lost the path, yeh've lost the match, and if I have anythin' to say about it, yeh won't ever make it out of here alive.  Yeh've gone too far this time, ol' man."

Albus snorted aloud.  

"Lost?  I think not.  You've got three dragons to deal with.  I sit here on the very edge of the apparition boundaries.  The only thing between it and me is you.  I could beat you with one hand behind my back.  Come now, _old man_.  Let us be truthful."

"Truthful?  Truthful is that I owe yeh one from Sam."  Moody's lip curled unpleasantly.  "Yeh ought ta have not ever gone after me sister, Dumbledore.  I can handle a bit of bribery; I don't know of any aurors who haven't come across someone offering them a good deal on something unsavory, but yeh don't get to hurt my family."

"Well then, let's have it out then, shall we?  A good old honor duel," Dumbledore laughed, and then spat bright red into the chilled early evening air.  

"You would like that, but that's not what I was aimin' fer," Moody grinned.  

And then Dumbledore screamed.  And he screamed even harder as large teeth ripped the rest of the way through his shoulder, leaving the socket of his arm gleaming white under the barely risen moon. 

"One arm behind your back, yeh say, Albus?  If yeh insist.  I told yeh not to mess with family.  That one was fer Sam, this one is fer me."  Moody raised his wand.

Dumbledore's world went black.

. . .

Singe stared up at the fully grown Norwegian Ridgeback and it stared right back down at him.  He felt himself being judged, and could not be certain that he would necessarily pass the unspoken testing. 

_"Little one,"_  Spoke in his head, slower and somehow with more weight than his father's voice carried. 

_"What do you ask of me, great Mother?"_  

_"Do not fear me, for we are same, though different.  We are both alike and yet not.  Unusual though you are, you have my gratitude for finding my lost one and keeping her from the harm this twisted creature might caused unto her,"_ She said, indicating the still bent Dumbledore.  

Singe's eyes widened as he realised that Dumbledore was speaking with Moody.  

_When had he arrived?_

_"Your sire is making his way toward us now as well,"_ She bespoke to him, amusement crinkling through.

_"Baby is yours?"_  He hesitantly voiced.

_"And also yours.  For though we are both here and now, you are also later and I am before."_

Unbeknownst to Singe, his conversation with his Baby's egg mother was filtering its way down to Severus, and the potions master listened with utmost awe. 

_"Are you also . . ."_  He trailed off, uncertain of how to answer. 

_"Speak and be not afraid.  I owe you a great debt.  I shall never eat you or yours."_

_"Are you also human?  Or am I the only dragon with two forms?_ "

_"I am only dragon, but dragon is not only me.  Dragon speak is not limited to only my species, despite dragons being unable to speak.  Everything speaks, if only one listens."_

_"But I can't hear, how can I listen?"_

The great mother dragon cocked her head.  

_"I cannot hear, but I can listen.  Perhaps you are dragon not because of your form, but because you_ listen _like a dragon."_

_"Dragons are deaf?"_

_"Snakes are deaf.  Dragons are thus and more.  We hear beyond the aural."_ She paused and started stalking off toward Dumbledore.  

_"I see a snack on the horizon.  My babe has need of fresh blood."_

Singe and Severus watched in fascination and horror as she bit directly through the headmaster's wand arm, swallowing it and the wand whole.  

_"A bit gamey.  Perhaps there are better meats inside the wooded area.  Come, baby."_

Baby followed its mother into the Forbidden Forest.  At the very edge, it looked back at Singe and cocked its head.

Singe tried to swallow past the lump in his throat at its unvoiced question. 

_"No, go on.  I'll find my way here with my sire."_

Another look. 

_"I mean it. I'll be fine."_

A lingering glance.

_"Do as you're told!"_

 

 


	33. Dumbledore's Day in Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but necessary chapter.

**Chapter 33**

Darkness lifted, and Dumbledore swam back to the light.  When he finally opened his eyes, he found that his vision was murky.  Hazy.  A great sense of calm enveloped him, even as he opened his mouth to protest.  

He looked around in this haze, mouth closing on its own accord as he took in the sight before him.  The Wizengamot, in all of its glory, sat above him.  Amelia Bones, monocle firmly clamped in one eye, stood up and spoke to the crowd of wizened individuals present.  As always, Dumbledore found her words easy to ignore until his name was mentioned.

“The accused, one Albus Dumbledore, has been administered Veritaserum.  Auror Shacklebolt, has enough time passed for questioning to now continue?”

“It has.”

“Then by all means, proceed.”

What followed was an exercise in boredom.  Full name asked and given.  Professional goals asked and given.  Various leadership positions reeled off, and familial history aired and laundered.  No one asked about Ariana, and he offered no information without prompting.

And then everything changed.

“Did you know you would be causing harm to Harry Potter by placing him with his relatives?”

Albus struggled with himself then.  The public was not ready to hear of the necessary means for achieving ‘The Greater Good,’ but his struggles were ultimately fruitless.

“Yes.”

A murmur broke out in the wizengamot then, but it was quickly stifled by a few sharp bangs of the gavel.  Out of the corner of his eye, a dark shadow shifted and Albus was surprised to see Severus away from the comfort of his dank dungeons.  Would wonders never cease?

“Do you who killed them?”

“I do.”

Another brief murmur of sound, but this one was quickly quelled by a steely eyed glance from Amelia.

“ _Mister_ Dumbledore,” Kinglsey asked, and Dumbledore tried to fight against the constraints of the potion to protest such an underwhelming title.

“Who killed the Dursleys?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

The haze around his mind appeared to lift slightly and Dumbledore pushed forward in his restraints in his haste to answer the question.

“Because they failed!” He spat.  “Such worthless little muggles.  Couldn’t even manage to do _one_ blasted task,” He added, unaware that his thoughts were being broadcasted live through his traitorous mouth.

Several bangs of the gavel were required to restore order, alongside a threat to remove speaking privileges the next time an outburst occurred.

“How did they fail?” Kingsley voice was cool and collected, despite the turmoil present in his frown.

“Harry was to be broken down through their treatment, but they were to keep him _there_ . _Seven_ times they lost him.   _SEVEN!_ ”

“Did you . . . return him when he was lost?”

“Of course I did!  And a mess that was.  Muggles can only be obliviated so many times before losing cognitive functions.”

Somewhere, in Dumbledore’s mind, a part of him was relishing the chance to share his many woes with these people.  The veritaserum was an easy master.  It coaxed his mouth open, and in turn promised his actions to be met with unyielding understanding.  

“You bloody bastard!”  A man’s voice broke his mental gloating.

“We will have order in here, even if I have to cast you from the courtroom myself, Alastor!” Amelia’s voice rang out.

Dumbledore sat back and grinned the smile of the self-assured.  

“Why . . . why was it required that he be raised in such difficult circumstances?” Kingsley’s voice was cajoling.  

To Dumbledore, it seemed as though the other man _really_ wanted to understand.  

“Suffering increases magical output.  Look at He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  Raised in an orphanage.  Suffered under food shortages, physical violence and mental duress.  Strongest wizard of the century.  Gellert Grindelwald was raised by an overbearing uncle who beat him for every last mistake, torturing his friends and obliviating them afterward.  Again, one of the strongest wizards of the century.  Severus Snape, an equally strong wizarding figure in these last thirty years, suffered the most miserable childhood that I have had the pleasure of hearing,” Albus’ smile turned nearly grandiose as he took in Amelia’s stunned visage.

Out of eyesight, Severus Snape’s white knuckled grip on his wand was tempered only by the constant muttered promises from the older man beside him.

“Yeh can’t kill him in front of witnesses, Snape.  Yeh especially can’t do it before we know all the details.  After this, yeah.  I’ll help yeh.  But not ‘til then.   We can even feed him bit by bit to Singe.”

“Singe wouldn’t eat anything that foul,” Severus managed to growl out, his eyes never leaving the centre of the courtroom.

“What about them giant spiders in the Forbidden Forest?  Get a few them to drain him dry?  While he’s conscious?”

“Too easy.”

“Yeah, ‘suppose.”

Their conversation was derailed by the sound of Dumbledore spewing more wickedness out from the depths of his mind.

“Harry Potter.  Parents murdered in front of him when he was a just a babe.  He was _already_ set up to be a powerful wizard.  Gellert and I theorized that a child with the correct background could be coaxed into being even more unbalanced with the use of subtle prompting.”

“Such as?” Kingsley’s voice was barely recognised through the man’s clenched teeth.

“Potions that promoted emotional instability.  As you know, emotional instability in children leads to outbursts of accidental magic.  The higher instability, the more outbursts.  Accidental magic may be commonplace in a magical household, but when that child is placed in a _magic fearing_ home--and I use that term loosely--the reactions range from expressing mild concern to committing acts of major violence against the cause of those accidents.  I used compulsion spells to remove the Dursley’s inhibitions--few though they were--in reacting violently in response to the things they feared most.”

By this point, most of those present had been spelled silent or forced to leave.  Severus and Moody were some of the only bystanders left unspelled within the courtroom, and that was only because of their desire to outlast each other.

Severus suspected that the truth potion was nearing the end of its efficacy, but it hardly seemed to matter to Dumbledore.  He had a captive audience now.

“I repeat,” Kingsley asked.  “Why was all of this necessary?”

“Harry Potter was the means to an end.  Gellert and I had a hypothesis to test, and I used Harry as the testing material.   _Puer ignis_ is a spell we found--and modified somewhat--in the depths of the old library of Atlantis.  Yes,” He held up his hand to stave off imagined protests.  

In reality, no one was willing to interrupt the madness spewing forth freely in front of them.  

“Yes, I realise that Atlantis was lost, but until fifty years ago, much of its great library was still accessible.  The text was composed primarily of ancient Mermish, which was subsequently handwritten out by a centaur with terrible spelling and tendency to smear his ink when excited.  It was difficult to read and decipher, but we persevered!”  Dumbledore paused, as though expecting applause.  When he was met with none, he merely sighed and continued.  “Of course, I can’t expect the _teeming_ masses to understand the difficulty of this task,” He added, smiling benignly up at the Wizengamot.  

“By denying the Potters’ will and leaving young Harry without a magical guardian, _I_ was able to take up that mantle by being the person to handle his various points of magical business.  Since he was without magical _and_ familial guardian, then it was supposed that ownersh--I mean, _guardian_ ship of him was to be assumed by the person who held the most power over his choices.  In return, his raw magical output could be harnessed by _me_ .  All as a matter of _protecting_ young Harry, of course.  It was a surprise to discover that the spell could change the boy into something non-human, but it would not have been an insurmountable feat if only Harry had recognized his owner.  For whatever reason, the spell failed in that manner.”

Silence reigned in the courtroom.  Kingsley walked over to Amelia and they had a quick but furious conversation behind a muffling charm.  

“Dumbledore,” Amelia spoke aloud, cutting Kingsley off with his remaining hand.

“Yes, my dear?”  The twinkle was back.

“Is there any way to change Harry back?”

“I honestly can’t say.  I suppose if he were drained of all magical ability, he would change back, but that’s hardly a definite idea.”

“Nor a good idea,” Amelia murmured.  “Dumbledore, might I ask, what were you going to do with all of Harry’s raw power?”

“Why, rule the world of course.”

Someone by the door let out a surprise squawk of laughter.   No one else spoke.  The room seemed to be holding its collective breath.

“And that would be a good idea, because . . . ?”  Amelia leaned forward in her seat, thin face pinched and worn.

“The fact that you question me means that you clearly do not have the wherewithal to hold your position, let alone decide on the future of the Wizarding World.”

They could hear the capital letters in his tone.  

“I see.  Are there any more questions from anyone?”  

A stunned silence met her words.  The last of the haze floated away in the face of Dumbledore’s serene smile.  

He had never meant to speak it all aloud, but it felt like the right idea now that he had.  Albus sat back and crossed his leg at the knee, adjusting his grey prison robes just so.  

“Completely bonkers, man is,” Someone muttered close to Severus muttered.

Severus couldn’t help but completely agree.  He didn’t give the speaker of the sentiment any encouragement though.  Moody had a big enough head as it was.  He certainly didn’t need reinforcement.

. . .

The Wizengamot came back in only fifteen minutes.  Dumbledore was declared guilty of an impressive list of crimes.  And despite some members’ hesitation, the man was sentenced to life in Azkaban, directly next to the dastardly and much disliked criminal, Sirius Black.  


	34. I Want to Try

**Chapter 34 - I Want to Try**

The pain sunk in again as he was transferred across the water on the ferry to Azkaban.  Phantom pains ran up and down his right arm--or where his right arm should have been.  A _dragon_ had eaten it.  A _dragon_. Somewhere in the gullet of a dragon lay his hand and his wand.  And by Merlin, he would reclaim it.  If it was the last thing he ever did.

. . .

“Tell me again what the mother dragon said,” Hermione Granger tersely instructed Severus Snape.

He huffed and rolled his eyes, but the dratted girl refused to budge.

“One last time.  And then you and the rest of your compatriots will leave us be!”  He growled at her.  

Hermione, Neville, Millicent and Theodore had crowded into his quarters not an hour after he and Moody had returned.  He had walked into his home to discover that the ceilings had been lifted and that there was enough room within its walls for a small, barely adolescent dragon to also dwell.  

 _Quietly.  And calmly,_ had been Severus’ first instructions to Singe after informing him of the change.  His dragon could come in from outside by walking through the space between two specific trees at the outermost wall nearest his quarters.  

 _“I’m glad they’re here,”_ Was Singe’s quiet voice in his mind.   _“I missed them.”_

Singe was curled up in the corner like a large silver cat, his tail wound around one of the feet of Severus’ chair.  

Severus recited for the room:

_“‘Do not fear me, for we are same, though different.  We are both alike and yet not.  Unusual though you are, you have my gratitude for finding my lost one and keeping her from the harm this twisted creature might caused unto her.’”_

“And then what did she say?”  Hermione pressed.  “And don’t act like you can’t remember.  Har--Singe was there too!”

From the other side of the room, Moody snorted aloud and Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered darkly.

“Singe asked if the baby was hers.  She replied that it was also his _. . . ‘For though we are both here and now, you are also later and I am before.’”_

“Hope you understand more than I do, sir,” Teddy murmured.  

“Sometimes I wish I understood less,” Severus answered, not lifting his head out of his hand.  

“I think that the Mother was talking about how Harry had been taking care of the baby before, but now she would be doing that,” Hermione said, brown eyes bright.  “And the rest?”

_“‘I am only dragon, but dragon is not only me.  Dragon speak is not limited to only my species, despite dragons being unable to speak.  Everything speaks, if only one listens.’"_

_“And then I asked, ‘If I can’t hear, how can I listen?’”_ Singe interjected, letting Severus say his words aloud for everyone.  

“And she said?”  Hermione prompted.

 _"‘I cannot hear, but I can listen.  Perhaps you are dragon not because of your form, but because you_ listen _like a dragon.’"_

“And Singe asked--rightly, if I might add--whether that meant that dragons were deaf,” Severus added, lifting his head to stare at his dragon.

_"‘Snakes are deaf.  Dragons are thus and more.  We hear beyond the aural.’"_

“So dragons can’t hear?” Was Millicent’s hesitantly voiced question.

“Well, that’s true for the one we know personally,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

 _“But it was true before I became a dragon,”_ Singe pointed out.  

It was a strange bit of listening that he was able to do, hearing the conversation filter in from Severus’ point of view.  He waited for his sire to repeat his words aloud and then he sighed gustily.  His breath caught the tops of books, flinging them open and fluttering about any loose papers within the quarters.

 _“Singe,”_ Severus warned with a look.

 _“Sorry, da,”_ Was Singe’s contrite answer.  

Hermione tapped her fingers impatiently on the table.  

“It’s like telepathy, but you said that telepathy isn’t a thing in the wizarding world. Right?  Professor Snape?”  She asked, peering closely at him when he didn’t answer immediately.

“Telepathy, no,” Severus stated after a moment, before standing up and crossing over to a large bookcase near Singe’s head.

He pulled a thin book out and then brought it back to the table with the other first years.  Moody pulled himself upright from his chair on the other side of the room and stumped over to see what Snape was looking at.

“What’re yeh thinkin’?” Moody growled.

Severus didn’t answer, flipping through the book slowly and then more quickly as he tried to get to the page he wanted.

“Snape,” Moody prompted in a louder voice.

Abruptly, Severus stopped turning pages and put the book down on the table, taking a seat in front of it.  

“In the early 20th century, there was a girl born in the United States who could hear the thoughts of others just by looking at them.  She would ofttimes get in trouble for responding to these unvoiced thoughts.”

“Heard o’ her,” Moody added, grabbing a chair and turning it backward to then straddle.

Severus sneered at his plebeian way of sitting, but did not say anything about it.

“I imagine you, as an auror, would have studied her.  What she was doing,” He glanced up and looked at Singe in his nearest eye.  “Was an art called Legilimency.”

Millicent and Teddy’s eyes widened at this revelation and they both nodded.  

“Legilimency oft goes hand in hand with an art called ‘Occlumency.’  Occlumency is the art of protecting one’s mind against external penetration, such as through legilimency.”

Severus turned and looked at Hermione and Neville who were both looking at him with mildly horrified expressions.  He tapped the book in front of him.  

“This woman, Queenie Goldstein.  She was naturally talented in Legilimency.  The references I found on her suggest that she found it as easy as we find breathing.  I wonder,” Here he stopped and looked at Singe.  “I wonder if that is what you have been doing all along?”

He held up his hand to forestall any arguments from Singe.  

“No, not knowingly.  And yes, I very much doubt you have been looking into people’s minds in order to glean extra information.  But Singe, you have to admit, your ability to lipread is _far_ beyond the normal.  Yes, I know that you were raised--perhaps raised isn’t the right word,” Here he exchanged a glance with Moody.  

“Your _upbringing_ was exceedingly lacking, and therefore you were pushed to exceed far past the norm.  After all, as you have alluded to in many of our conversations, your mere survival depended on it.  Am I right?”

Slowly, Singe nodded his large head.

“Perhaps that’s what the Mother dragon meant.  Perhaps all dragons communicate thusly.  So then your idea of telepathy isn’t all that far off, Miss Granger.”

_“Why can I only hear you, then?  In my head?”_

“I don’t know, Singe.  Perhaps you only _want_ to hear me?  Perhaps it’s a side effect of that spell that Dumbledore used?  I don’t know.  What I do think is that your ability to read lips--even before being adopted--is nigh impossible without the use of some other gift.  Yes, I do mean gift.  Most practitioners of legilimency have to study the art for years before developing any kind of proficiency at it.  If this is what you’re doing, child, then it is most impressive.”

Singe responded to the would-be compliment by hiding his head under his wings.

Moody guffawed and the other children broke out in whispers and smiles.  

“Now, if you all would be so kind.  I would like to have some peace and quiet with my family.”

The children all gave him and Singe knowing glances as they filed out of the apartment.

Severus acknowledged none of it, choosing rather to snipe at Moody for putting his dirty boots atop a pile of his books.  

From the other side of the room, Singe watched from under his claws and snickered to himself as his tail caught on his dad’s foot not once but three times.  

“No!  You will let me go!”  Severus barked, finally tired of tripping over his son’s tail.  “Pick on your grandfather!”

_“But you make funnier expressions!”_

. . .

Singe stretched in his father’s quarters and marveled at the way the walls automatically lengthened around his body.  Turning around in a circle, he used his claws to pull some of the blankets around his body in a more comfortable manner.  His father had gotten them from somewhere.  He said that they had been left in some kind of lost and found room, probably by former students.  

Once he was as comfortable as he was likely to get, he looked back over at Severus and Moody as they peered through various books.  They were trying to find a way to change him back, and though he wished he could help, he also was glad that he didn’t have to sit and read what looked like piles of dullness.  

He thought back to what Severus had said about why they were able to talk and he frowned.  Unbidden, more smoke began rising from his nostrils and moments later both Severus and Moody were coughing.  

 _“What’s wrong?”_ Severus asked him, after performing some sort of charm on himself.  

The smoke cleared around his father’s head and the man stopped coughing shortly thereafter.  In turn, he realised where the smoke was coming from and mentally fought to stop his body from producing so much.

_“I forgot about what happened in the forest with the centaurs.  You’re not the only one who can talk to me.  One of them could too.”_

At Moody’s questioning look, Severus spoke aloud.

“A centaur spoke to him in the forest,” He said, gesturing at Singe.

“And he understood?”  

“So it seems.”

_“Child, did the centaur look you in the eye?”_

Singe nodded his head.  

“I suspect that the centaur spoke to him using legilimency,” Severus said, looking thoughtful.   _“Singe, have you tried speaking to Moody while looking him directly in the eye?”_

_“Not really.”_

_“Why don’t you try that then?”_

They watched as Singe shook himself and then stood up, leaning his large head forward on long neck to stare Moody directly in the eye.  

Nothing.  

Silence.

Then, suddenly Moody jerked.  

_“Lad?  Am I hearin’ yeh?”_

_“Granddad?”_

Singe broke eye contact and looked back to Severus.

_“I did it!  And I want to see, maybe if I think of you both?”_

An intense look of concentration appeared on his face as he stared at the wall behind the two men.  The magic around them seemed to gain weight, making the very air in their lungs feel heavy.  All of the lit candles abruptly lengthened, and within their shadows danced a myriad of impossible shapes.

_“Can you hear me, Granddad?  Dad?”_

A chill went down Severus’ spine as he heard his son’s voice.  A glance over at Moody and he was surprised to see wetness on the older man’s rough unshaven cheeks.  

“Yeah, lad, I can.  I ‘spect we both can,” Moody answered in an unsteady voice.

. . .

Across the castle a very different sort of meeting was taking place.  As the cerberus in the Forbidden room finally nodded off, a man with a dark aura allowed himself a small smile.  

“Too easy, my master.”

“Don’t get too overconfident,” The voice snapped.  

“Yes, master.”

 


	35. The Impossible

Both men looked up from their books as an alarm began ringing loudly.  

“If it’s not one thing, it’s another, eh Snape?” Moody growled, pulling himself to his feet and stomping toward the door.

_“What’s going on?”_

“Someone has set off the wards on the 3rd floor corridor,” Severus answered.

Singe followed them out the door and into the hall before Moody realised what he was doing.

“Where’re you goin’ then?” He asked, turning to the dragon behind him.  

 _“With you, of course!”_ Singe answered emphatically.

Moody glanced at Severus, who sighed gustily.

“We don’t have time to argue.  You may follow us to the 3rd floor, but no farther.  This is not up for debate. Do you understand, little snake?”

Singe, with some difficulty, nodded his large head and thumped his tail on the floor.

“Come, we must hurry,” Severus answered, turning and rushing down the hallway.

After three flights of stairs, and a trip through a hallway that Singe had never seen, they arrived at the forbidden third floor.  Without a glance backward, Severus and Moody pushed forward, and Singe dropped despondently to the floor.

. . .

Severus and Moody opened the door to find the poorly named “Fluffy” snoring on the floor beside an open trapdoor and a still playing harp.

“Age before beauty,” Severus offered with a smirk, waving a hand toward the dark hole in the floor.

“Beauty, eh?”  Moody grinned.

“Stop!  NO,” Severus growled back.  “Never mind.  I’ll go,” Cutting him off by jumping feet first into the hole.

“I’d say you’re too easy, Snape, bu’ we both know yeh’re not!”  Moody laughed as he perched himself at the edge of the trapdoor.

“Did I not tell you that we are done with that disgusting excuse for a conversation!?”  Severus hissed, banishing the remains of the Devil’s Snare away with his wand.

Moody dropped the remaining feet with a harsh thump.  He pulled himself upright and smiled at his pseudo-son over the wan light of his lit wand.

“Now why would we want ta be done wit’ that?  Watchin’ you turn green is one of my few pleasures!”  Moody laughed, clapping Severus on the shoulder a little harder than necessary.

Severus scowled and walked away through the room of flying keys. With a glance, he saw that the door on the other side of the room had been blasted from its hinges, and he stalked toward it with Moody clomping close behind him.

They didn’t speak again until they reached the room that housed Severus’ potion riddle.  

“Yer doin’, I s’pose?”  Moody asked, circling the table contemplatively.

“Yes,” Was Severus’ curt reply.  

“I don’t s’pose you have an antidote for all this?”  

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Severus answered, smiling coldly.

“And?”  

“And in turn, you will never again mention me and anything resembling your perverse sexual advances together ever again.”

“Aw, Snape.  That hurts me ol’ heart.”

“I’m sure it does,” Severus answered, holding out the vial of potion.  “Do I have your word?”

“Hm,” Moody answered, not reaching for the antidote.  “Migh’ be easier on you, but t’would be a lot less fun for me!”  He laughed and his arm shot out and unerringly plucked out the correct bottle from the table.  “Or I could jus’ solve the riddle and keep on makin’ you squirm.  Decisions, am I right!?”  He dug an elbow in Snape’s side and knocked back the potion.

“Nasty,” He added with a shudder.  “Well, s’pose I’ll see you on the other side!”

With that, Moody stepped through the flames with smile and wave.

Severus stared after the man for a moment before shaking himself and taking his own potion.  

“Gryffindors,” He growled, rolling his eyes and stepping forward after the old man who delighted in driving him mad.

. . .

Singe poked his head into the room that his father and grandfather had disappeared through with more than a little curiosity.  He had waited for a _long_ time, but now his nerves were getting the better of him.   He didn’t want to call to them unless he needed them, because he feared his distraction would cost them.  He just wanted to make sure they were okay.  He wanted to them to come back whole and healthy and be with him.

His eyes widened at the sight of the giant Cerberus and he eased his way into the room to examine it more closely.  It snuffled a bit in its sleep and he backed away hurriedly, briefly forgetting who was bigger.  

After watching it carefully for another moment, Singe eased back into the room, taking care to leave a wide berth around the still slumbering Cerberus.  

The open trapdoor was a curious sight.  Its depths were dark, but he could smell a floor not too far down.  It smelled like magic and rot, a smell he always associated with Herbology and Professor Sprout.  The memory made him wistful, and he dropped a few burning hot tears into the hole without noticing.  

The space below also smelled like his family, so at least he knew where to go if he needed to retrieve them.  

He eyed the hole and scratched his side with a back claw while thinking.  He had wings.  If he needed to get them out, he could fly up with them.  

 _Well_ , _maybe not both at the same time_.  

Seeing no light or change in the darkness below, Singe decided to jump.  He just hoped he wasn’t making a giant mistake.

. . .

“Moody I expected, but you, Snape?  I hardly picked you for a Dumbledore lackey,” Quirrell said by way of greeting, his wand pointed unwaveringly at them.

“Dumbledore lackey?” Severus sneered, glancing at Moody out of the corner of his eye.  “I think not.”

“But yet you have come to stop ussss,” A high, far too familiar voice sounded from somewhere behind Quirrell.

He flinched at the sound of his former lord’s voice.

“I came to stop _someone_.  I did not know--,” Severus started to say. 

“ _Crucio!_ ” Quirrell shouted.

“ _Incarcerous!”_  Moody shouted.

Quirrell batted it away with a hand as Severus collapsed and desperately tried to keep from screaming aloud.  

Blood was beginning to drip from his nose before Quirrell ended the spell, turning his head to focus entirely on Moody’s increasingly violent attacks.

Through blurry eyes, Severus watched the volley of curses flashing rapidly between the other two men in the chamber.  His marked arm burned furiously, making his efforts to reach for his wand all the more difficult.  

 _“Dad?”_  A voice whispered urgently in his mind, but he didn’t have enough mental energy to answer it.

His wand, which had rolled a few feet from his body sometime during the cruciatus, was within reach.  He raised his body up on trembling limbs and crawled forward.  Finally, his fingers closed around the familiar wood, his magic reaching out and caressing his core with comforting tendrils of magic.

“ _Expelliarmus,”_ Severus managed, squinting at the darkness surrounding Quirrell.  

“Ha!” Moody grunted.

Quirrell’s wand flew from his grasp.

“You dare!” Voldemort’s screeched.

Quirrell sneered and his hand twitched toward Severus, a nasty coloured curse flying out of it.  

He screamed as the bone breaking curse knocked into him, crushing its way through his left leg.  Severus collapsed back down, managing to turn his head as he vomited on the floor beside him.

 _“DADDY!”_ His son screamed in his mind.  

A familiar roar sounded from the doorway, and he stared uncomprehendingly at the sight.

. . .

He had started slowly through the room below the Cerberus, but had picked up speed as he went.  He could feel the pain in his father’s mind, and by the time he was in the room with the giant chess set, he was flying.  He vaguely felt one of the knights trying to hit him with a sword, but he merely flew faster.  

 _“Dad?”_ He tried, but got no answer.  

His father screamed in his mind as he reached the flamed doorway, and he roared in response, flying through the fire without another thought.

 _“DADDY!”_ He screamed, seeing his father huddled palely on the floor.

He looked at Quirrell, with his ridiculous turban, and knew instinctively who was to blame.  With another roar, he flew at the man, his claws ripping into his body much the same way he had done with Dumbledore not so long ago.  He crushed the man beneath him and slammed a clawed arm down onto Quirrell’s skinny throat.

A new voice sounded in his mind.  It laughed and screamed and he shuddered at hearing the sound that had plagued so many of his nightmares.  

His dragon breath, which he usually kept so tightly controlled when he was around other people, flew out of his mouth with his next roar, setting the man’s body and clothes on fire.

The laughter in his mind turned entirely to screams, and he was glad.  

 _“You don’t get to hurt my DAD!”_ He roared.

The body beneath him abruptly fell silent, and he had begun to take a step backward when it happened.  A black cloud burst from Quirrell’s body, and flew straight for him.

. . .

Severus watched in horror as the black substance rose from Quirrell’s now unmoving body and flew into his son’s.  He heard his son roar again, and then watched as his son’s familiar face turn toward him.  His normally green eyes gleamed red, and he heard Moody gasp from beside him.  

 _“Hello, Severus.  My dear slippery snake.  You’ve betrayed me, haven’t you?  And to think, with a monstrous creature like Harry Potter!_ ”

“Lad!  Don’t let him win!”  Moody called out.

 _“There is no more Potter, Mad-Eye!  There is only Lord Voldemort!”_ Harry’s wings spread menacingly as he stalked toward Severus.

 _“Harry, son, you have to fight,”_ Severus said firmly within his mind. _“Fight for me and your granddad.  Use that strength you had when you fought Dumbledore so many times.  Fight because we love you.  Fight because your home is with us now.  Fight against him!  Do it now, little snake!”_

Voldemort the dragon opened his mouth to cast burning flames upon Severus’ prone body.  

 _“NO!  DADDY!”_  A voice screamed between them, aloud and within and all around.  

The world exploded.

. . .

The roar of magic whiplashed across them all, burning hot with a familiar smell of petrol and terror.  A bright orange light exploded from Singe’s silver body, and around them, they could hear Voldemort’s anguished screams.  Singe’s eyes flashed green then red and then back to green.  

The room began to shake, dust shaking itself loose first and then larger pieces of masonry started to fall around them.  Severus heard Moody curse and then he cried out as the older man threw his body atop his own.  A moment later, a shield flickered into existence over them.  

A violent maelstrom of magic whipped its way around their dragon, the orange being added onto by greens and yellows and more.  A hurricane level wind ripped toward Singe, sucking all the air from the room as it did, and then exploding outward with concussive force.

The last thing Severus saw before losing consciousness was a large dragon holding its head in its claws, bursting at the seams with light and magic.

And then, nothing.

. . .

“Dad?”  A voice--a _familiar_ voice--poked itself into his awareness.

“He’s been asleep longer’n you, lad.  It’s gonna take ‘im longer to wake up.”

_Why on earth do I know that voice?_

His body ached, and his mouth tasted atrocious, but he was alive.  Tentatively, he wiggled the toes on his left foot and breathed out in relief at the lack of pain.  

“He’s moving.  He’s going to wake up,” Said that same befuddling voice.

Silence, then the sound of a man clearing his throat.

“He jus’ might,” The man agreed.

A small hand wrapped itself around Severus own, and he mentally gasped.  

 _Harry_.

He groaned as his eyes creaked open, and then he groaned again at the brightness of the lights in the room.

He heard muttered curses and the sounds of someone fumbling for their wand, and he barked a laugh.

“Still can’t keep ahold of your wand, Moody?”  He asked slowly, opening his eyes again.

Harry’s face, unblemished and with two _working_ eyes, was staring down at him and he gasped at the sight.  Unbidden, tears pricked his eyes, and he watched in amazement as his son smiled back at him.

“Harry?”  The word feeling foreign on his tongue.

“Dad,” Harry grinned, throwing himself forward and wrapping thin arms around Severus’ neck.

“How?”  He managed, hiding his tears in Harry’s messy locks.

“I got rid of Voldie out of my head.  And when I woke up, I was me.  Not the me that I was after the accident, but the me that I was before.”

“How is this possible?”  Severus croaked, letting go of Harry long enough to look at Moody.

Belatedly, he realised that Moody had somehow managed to move them all into Severus’ quarters.  He briefly wondered how long he had been unconscious, but that thought was pushed aside in order to hear Moody’s answers.

“You know ‘bout as much as I do, Snape.  I found him after the dust had cleared, and he was a little boy again.”

“Maybe I changed because I was trying so hard, Daddy.  I wanted to be what I was inside my head, and I did,” Was Harry’s wise answer.

“Your hearing?”  Severus asked, glancing back and forth between his son and pseudo-parent.

“Better.  Not perfect, but better.  Passable.  But I can still hear Moody inside my head!”  Harry answered triumphantly.

“And your leg?  Your hands?”  Severus asked, goggling at it all.  

“Snape,” Moody grunted, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him.  “Harry and I think he might have some metamorphosis talents that were unrealised before all this happened.  Show him, lad.”  

Severus watched as Harry concentrated.  Harry’s hair grew out to shoulder length and then back, while his eyes shifted through a myriad of colours before coming--thankfully--back to his normal green.  

“And your dragon form?  You can still do that?”  Severus carefully asked.

“I didn’t try, because I wanted to make sure you saw me like this.  I don’t want to get stuck like that again, even if messing with you was lots of fun!”  Harry giggled.

“Brat!”  Severus growled, reaching over and pulling Harry onto the bed proper beside beside him.  

He struggled to sit up, and finally, with some reluctance, let Moody help him upright.  His son instantly curled into his side, and he wrapped an arm around him with no small degree of pride.

“What happens now, Dad?”  Harry asked.

“Now?”  Severus glanced at Moody.  “We should probably tell your friends.”

“And Poppy,” Harry suggested, grinning at the shudders coming from his family.

“If you desire,” Was all Severus said.

 _“I love you, daddy,”_ Harry’s voice said in his mind.  

Severus grinned openly.  

“And I you, little snake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry does the impossible. As usual. Next chapter is the wrap-up of details, and then after that is the Epilogue. THANK MERLIN!!!


	36. Introspection

**Chapter 36 - Introspection**

“Severus, I need to talk to you,” Poppy called to him.

They had just concluded Harry’s post-dragon medical exam, and were about to leave for breakfast when Poppy had interrupted them.

“I can wait for you?”  Harry offered, glancing at him and then back at Moody with a smile.

“No, you go on.  I’m sure Moody will make sure you eat all your vegetables,” Severus answered with a grin.

“Vegetables?  For breakfast?  That sounds . . . that sounds . . .” Harry started with a frown.

“Terrible, lad.  The word you’re looking for is, ‘terrible.’” Moody interjected, putting an arm around him and leading him out the door.

“Poppy, what is it?” Severus asked.

“These test results don’t make sense given what you’ve told me,” Poppy answered, her face uncharacteristically grave.

“I beg your pardon?”  

“He is still deaf in both ears,” She began.

“But he said it was better,” He argued with a frown.

“He is the same amount of deaf as he was in the beginning of the year, Severus,” Poppy answered in a hushed tone.  

Severus flinched.

“That doesn’t make any sense.  He _said_ it was better.  Why would he lie?”

“I don’t know, Severus.  Could he be utilising more of that latent legilimency you and Moody were telling me about?”  She asked, putting one hand on her hip as she stared up at him.

“I suppose?  But he does have a metamorphosis' talents.  He demonstrated that for us all.”  

Poppy nodded.

He thought furiously for a few moments more before speaking again.

“Could he be fooling himself into thinking he is ‘all better’ when he’s not?  What of his other injuries?”

“There have been other recorded instances--extraordinary ones, mind you--where a body’s magic has made it possible to absorb various enchanted objects into one’s own physical make-up.  Perhaps his forced transition to a dragon, and then back again, caused his body to do just that,” She stopped and stared off into space before refocusing with a grim smile.  

“His legs register in my diagnostics as being his own.  And his fingers.  And perhaps the scars are gone because he really did do as he said, and wished them gone.  But his hearing _is_ the same; I just don’t know whether or not he is aware of it,” Poppy answered, a moue of frustration on her face.

Severus crossed his arms and scowled.  He turned and started to walk away, only to stop when another thought occurred to him.

“Perhaps, upon awakening and finding his other injuries gone . . .” His scowl deepened as he trailed off.  “Perhaps, it was important to him to be completely healed.  Perhaps he thought that we expected it of him.”

“How will you ask him?”  Poppy asked.

He paused, his hand on the door he had been about to open.  

“I have an idea,” He answered, turning to back to smirk at her before exiting with a flash of his robes.

. . .

Pretending to be a hearing person around people who assumed he was as well was easy enough, if occasionally tricky.  Pretending to be a hearing person around people who thought his ears had gotten better was a touch harder.  

It wasn’t that he had intended to lie, per se.  He had awoken alone in his bedroom within Severus’ quarters and had gotten the opportunity to take stock of his situation.  Clearly he had regained his humanity, and Harry had thanked whomever was listening for allowing him that small mercy.  

Next, he had checked his hands and realised with some bewilderment that all of his fingers were once again present.  His pyjama bottoms had been yanked up then, and he had spent far too many precious heartbeats frozen in awe at the sight he had unveiled.  Two legs!  Two legs that were both his and non-detachable!  

Prodding at his face had revealed the presence of two spongy eyeballs, the scars on his face now stretched tightly around them.  And with another twist of his inner magic, even the scars had faded.  

Except for his hearing, he was everything he’d wanted--everything he’d missed.  The thought made him angry.  He could have three heads and he’d never have the approval of the Dursleys.  He’d never have the much vaunted happy childhood of his peers.  He’d never . . . he’d never . . .

He remembered thinking that it had to be a dream, or perhaps yet another nightmare cooked up by Dumbledore to rob him of his happiness.  But it wasn’t.  Dreams really did come true.  He really could be something worthwhile.  He didn’t have to be a freak anymore.

Tears stung his eyes as he remembered that morning.  Maybe he could blame the difference of his body parts as an aftereffect of the spell Dumbles had used.  He could show them his metamorphosis skills that he had refined while on the streets and show them how he’d gotten rid of the scars.  What he couldn’t do is explain why not all of him had been fixed, or why their brat was still a freak, even in light of all that had changed.

He tried to pretend with Pomfrey that all was well once more, but he had caught the gleam of disbelief in her eyes shortly after the last spell had left her lips.  

“You lied to them,” She accused him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He had denied.  

“Why did you lie?  They love you.  I can see it.  A blind old turtle could see it, if he squinted enough.  Why did you lie to people who love you as you are?”

It had angered him that she had added that adjustment.  

 _Not me. The me that is me minus the parts of me that will never be again,_ his mind had muttered and rambled before fizzling into heartrending silence.

“Are we done?  It’s time for breakfast, is it not?”  He asked in a far too calm voice.

“We are going to talk about this again,” She said, her expression promising much more than that.

“If you want.”

. . .

Now it was after breakfast, after his uncomfortable evaluation, and he was traveling back toward their quarters to take a nap.  His body was still far too tired to hold itself up after so much magical exertion.  The scars on his face were still there, even if he had hidden them away under his skin.  If he let himself get too exhausted, they would reappear.  They would never reappear if he had anything to say about it.  

Everything was falling into place.  He was a boy again.  He had a family.  He could be everything he wanted--everything anyone wanted.

Severus had gone directly to Moody about ten minutes into breakfast and whispered something into the old man’s ear.  Whatever he had said had caused his granddad to pat his shoulder and then rush out the room.  Severus had taken his place at the Slytherin _table_ , making students from all the different tables turn and stare at them until his dad had turned and glared back at them.  

He had asked his dad about his conversation with Moody, but his damnable sire--er, _father_ had been remarkably close-lipped about it.  

That is, until now.

“Would you like to come back to our quarters for a while before going and seeing your friends?”  Severus had asked him.  

“Sure,” He said easily enough, feeling the scars trying to reform across his face.  

He was _so_ tired.  It was hard having everything.  

 _And nothing_ , his subconscious gibbered at him.  He ruthlessly squashed that thought.

Their trip back was quiet, making him desperately paranoid that he was missing something.  

_You should tell them._

He squashed that thought down too.

Moody was waiting for them on the other side of the door, and Harry fell into a hug with him without even thinking.   As such, he missed the presence of the other person within the room.  

“ _Har_ ry,” Moody’s words went from sounding in his mind to registering within his eyes.  “I’ve brought you some more family ta meet.”

He stared with wide eyes at the woman standing across the room from them.  She had short grey hair and her left arm was about half the length of her right.  Then he looked at Moody and stared some more at the sight of the man smiling--actually _smiling_.  

He watched as the man crossed the room and enveloped her in a giant hug that made her smile.  

“This is me sister, Samantha Moody,” Moody said, using his hands to _sign_ the same.

Harry staggered backward into Severus’ solid presence.  

“Hello,” The woman signed.  “I’m Moody’s sister.  You can call me Aunt Sam, if you want.”

“You . . .” Harry’s voice closed up as angry tears filled his eyes.  “You don’t . . . speak?”  He asked, signing his question with halting movements.

“I speak.  But not aloud,” She answered slowly, her shortened arm not seeming to hinder her motions very much.  

Harry realised that she had slowed her signs for him and wanted to beat his head on something.  

“I can understand fine.  I just don’t sign . . . much,” He signed and spoke aloud, for the benefit of his dad.  “Not too many people understand it.  And . . . and now, I don’t, I don’t need . . . I.”  His eyes, which had been swimming with tears, finally let loose, and he spun around and mashed his face against Severus’ chest.  

He could _hear_ his dad and granddad talking in his head, but it was muffled by the sounds of his sobs.  

Distantly, he felt Severus’ fingers slip under his armpits and then hoist him up, resting him on his dad’s hip like a child.  

 _“Is it so very bad to be deaf, little snake?”_  His dad’s voice sounded in his head, louder than the rest of the noise filling his mind.

_“When did you know?”_

_“Poppy.”_

He’d never liked that woman.

_“But really, I would have figured it out soon enough.  Did you think you could fool me for long?”_

He shook his head into Severus’ neck.  

_“Why?”_

His tears had slowed and he took a moment to scrub a hand under his glasses.  

 _“Why?”_  Severus’ voice repeated within his mind.

He huffed in response and looked up at his father.  

“Because it was a miracle.  And I thought,”  His face screwed up and he blinked hard against the sudden influx of tears.  “I thought that if it was going to be a real miracle, then it could solve everything.”  He wiped at his tears angrily.  

“Everything, little snake?”  His dad asked, speech too precise to leave anything to doubt.

“I just--” He blinked hard again and swallowed hastily against the wave of water pushing against his throat.  “I just wanted to be normal,” He whispered.  “I didn’t want to be the freak anymore.  I just wanted to be normal.”  His tears dropped and he didn’t bother to wipe them.  

“You’re not the freak anymore, little snake.  You’re our Harry,”  Severus answered, carding a long fingered hand through his messy hair.  “And as our Harry, we know what we’re getting into.  Whether it be dragon or hearing loss, or what-have-you.  You’re ours.  And we want you as you are.  No more hiding, please, little one.  No more hiding.”

“You can’t mean that.  You’ve met me!  You know I’m not right in the head.  You know I can’t just fit in with other people!  I’m always going to be a disappointment!  I’m always going to be that kid you got dumped with!  I’m no one’s prize.  I just wanted to be something good for once.  So people could look at you and Moody, and Aunt Sam and think, ‘Wow, they sure lucky with that one.  They sure got the prize on that one,’” Harry’s lips shook wildly as he cried, making his words nearly impossible to be understood.  

“Not like that freak he was before.  Not like that kid that no one wanted.  This,” He beat himself on the chest.  “This kid though, you can be proud of him.  Not like that freak.”

His lips trembled and he buried his head in Severus’ shoulder.  

“This kid, eh Harry?” Severus’ voice broke, and the other two adults in the room saw that he wasn’t very much away from tears himself.  

_“This kid is all I ever wanted.  I don’t want a self-aggrandizing hero or something that everyone else seems to think they have.  I want my Harry.  I want the child that was willing to stand up for Longbottom and Bulstrode and Granger.  I want the child that made the Nott boy laugh.  He never laughed much before now, and his mother wrote me before this term began, begging me to keep an eye on him.  But I didn’t need to, because you already had one there.”_

_“Hah hah, dad,”_ Harry’s voice was sarcastic in their shared mindspace.  

_“I don’t want some cookie-cutter child with the perfect house and perfect family, because if I did, where would I be?  I’d be in a house alone.  I wouldn’t have my Singe trying to trip me with his tail or protect me from a full grown dragon.”_

Severus hand pushed itself under his chin and forced him to look up.

“I do not want anybody but you.  Do you understand, little snake?  I only want you.  Like you are, regardless of the situation.  Perfection is a dream world, little one.  I am not perfect, and your Granddad sure as hell isn’t.”

Harry cracked a smile at that and turned to look at Moody, who was still signing everything to his sister.

“What can I say, lad?”  Moody answered, when he finally looked up.  “I passed all of my perfect tendencies onto my grand dragon.”  

Harry snickered at this, and then laughed for what felt like a very long time.  

“I can’t _wait_ for you to explain that comment to Aunt Sam,” He explained with a tired grin, his scars beginning to peek out around the edge of his glasses.  

Severus pressed a kiss to one of the nastiest looking scars on the side of Harry’s face, before moving carefully to drop himself and his son onto a nearby sofa.

“Do you love me, dad?”  

“Yes, little snake.  I love you so much,” Severus answered, wiping his son’s face with a light green linen handkerchief.  

“Even though I lied?”  

“Even though,” Severus confirmed, pulling his boy into his chest and pressing another kiss on his head.  

 _“We both love ya,”_ His grandfather’s voice boomed out across both of their minds.  

_“Thank you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chappie!


	37. Epilogue

 

“Really, they would have realised it as soon as they asked you to do magic.  Your plan wasn’t very well thought out, you know.  Especially for a Slytherin,” Hermione pointed out to Harry and their friends as they sat outside by the lake.

“Well, next time I miraculously become human after being changed into a dragon by a mispronounced Atlantian spell, I’ll try to factor in these sorts of details more carefully,” Was Harry’s retort.

Teddy and Millicent both rolled their eyes while Neville smothered his laughter in a conveniently placed handkerchief.

“Hmph,” Hermione answered.  “I’m glad you’re back though.  We missed you.”  

“I missed you.  All of you,”  Harry replied, his face serious.  “Teddy was my first friend, but the rest of you were all close seconds.  I’m going to miss you this summer.”

“Are you staying with the Professor this summer?  Or Moody?”

“Or both,” Harry snickered, surprising his friends with such easy laughter.  “They get into _epic_ fights.  I cannot wait to see them away from the school!  Or,” He giggled, not noticing his friends’ stunned reactions.  “Or in public. Especially if they have to be nice to each other!”

“Public, Mr. Potter?”  Severus asked both in his mind and aloud, dropping a shadow over their group.

“Yes sir.  We’re going to be out in public with Moody some this summer, right?  Don’t you think that would be a prime opportunity for pranking?”  Harry leaned back and looked at his father upside down, a wicked grin on his face.

“I suspect that I won’t want you to give me any details prior,” Severus warned.  “Are you all finished packing?”  

“More or less,” and “Yes, sir,” were the groups’ answers.  

“Then I shall not keep you any longer,” Severus answered, twisting his robes around with a flare.  

“Dad?”  

“Son?”

“Can my friends come and visit sometime this summer?”  

Severus turned back and eyed each of the up and coming second years.  Certainly it wouldn’t be difficult to have Bulstrode or Nott over, but Granger and Longbottom were part and parcel with his son.  Mentally he sighed.  

“If they get their guardians’ permissions, I suppose it would be acceptable to have them visit.  For a bit,” He added, raising an eyebrow.  

“Thanks, dad,”  His son’s smile was brilliant.  

He knew there was a reason he let his son talk him into these situations.  Severus basked in the sight of that happy smile before turning and leaving.  Perhaps he could convince Moody to chaperone the Gryffindors.  

That made him smirk.  Perhaps this summer would be interesting after all.  

. . .

In a dark, dank hole in the ground, Dumbledore sat and plotted.  The shrieks of the insane echoed off the walls around him, and he smiled at the idea of adding a few more voices to their chorus.  

He wondered how Sirius would react to finding out that his godson was in the care of “Snivellous.”  He looked forward to telling him.  It would be a _scream_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving it open for a sequel, but no sequel is planned at the moment. Maybe some one-shots . . .


End file.
